
J.M.P 





DANIEL B. LLOYD 

BUENA VISTA FARM 
PRINCE GEORGE'S COUNTY, MD. 

OFFICIAL REPORTER OF 

THE UNITED STATES SENATE 
From 1877 to 1943 



MY BOHEMIAN DAY S 
IN PARIS 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS 
IN LONDON 

Illustrated with 32 Drawings made 
specially for the Volume. 



MY BOHEMIAN 
DAYS IN PARIS 



BY 



JULIUS M. PRICE 

AUTHOR OF "dAMB FASHION," ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR 

AND WITH A FRONTISPIECE PORTRAIT FROM A 

PAINTING BY SOLOMON J. SOLOMON, R.A. 



PHILADELPHIA 
DAVID McKAY, Publisher 

604.8 SOUTH WASHINGTON SQUARE 



/ 



^^ 



-yV 

- ^^^ 



A 

ALEXANDRE THOMAS 

A toi, mon vieil ami, je dedis ces souvenirs des beaux jours de 
notre jeunesse; tu y retrouveras, mon cher Alexandre, ces parents si 
tendrement aimes auxquelsje crois n'avoir jamais assez temoignd 
ma profonde reconnaissance. 

Julius M. Price 



GIFT 

DANIEL LLOYD 

AUG. 1964 



PREFACE 

Although the number of books on Bohemian 

life of Paris is practically legion, I feel that I 

owe no apology for venturing to add to the list 

with my own humble effort; inasmuch as what I 

have attempted to narrate pertains entirely to my 

own individual experience during the years I 

spent as a student in the Ville Lumiere. Qui 

s'excuse s'accuse — is undoubtedly a true axiom, 

but in this instance my plea will, I hope, be 

accepted, if only on this ground. In this volume I 

have recorded the lighter side of the life of a 

student in Paris in the 'eighties, as I knew it; and 

although I cannot lay claim to have made any 

special discoveries or new features I feel that 

perhaps by reason of my souvenirs being almost 

entirely personal they may therefore present, now 

and again, novel aspects of the life in the Quartier. 

The student world of Paris has always exercised 

a curious fascination in the imagination of even 

the most staid of writers. This charm would be 

inexplicable were it not for the knowledge that, 

underlying its most tempestuous moods, there 

exists a substratum of genuine human nature that 

vii 



PREFACE 

effaces, to a great extent, the impression conveyed 
by its outward free-and-easy characteristics. Be- 
hind all the frivolity and levity of the etudiant in 
Paris there is a camaraderie and esprit de corps 
which goes far, not only towards inducing 
enthusiasm for one's work, but also in bringing 
out the best qualities of manhood. More water 
has passed under the bridges than I care to reahse 
since as a student I entered the atelier of 
G^rome, but the memory of those halcyon days 
still remains : when one's whole life was summed 
up in a determination to do one's utmost to 
achieve fame, coincident with a deep affection for 
one's Alma Mater. Men may come and men may 
go but the Quartier Latin goes on almost 
unchanged outwardly, for most of the old land- 
marks still exist — in fact, one fancies that one sees 
the same faces, so much does each generation of 
students resemble the preceding one. The old 
well-known cafes are still crowded of an evening, 
and life goes on, year in, year out, in the same 
happy state of insouciance as it did in days gone 
by. It is with mixed feelings of pleasure and 
sadness that one revisits the haunts of one's 
youth. One is concerned at the thought of how 
many of those gay, light-hearted boys whom one 
knew in the atelier have fallen on the road, or 
gone under in the struggle for existence in the 
most precarious and fickle of all the professions. 
Although outwardly the Ecole presents the 



Vlll 



PREFACE 

same appearance, one finds that a great innovation 
has come about, for female students are now 
admitted, and a special atelier has been opened 
and reserved for their sole use. This is a great 
concession, and one of the surest signs of the 
advance of the times. At present there are fewer 
English and American students in the painter's 
studios than formerly, this being in all probability 
due to the fact that the two most popular maitres, 
G6rome and Cabanal, have passed away. More- 
over, of late years, many other public studios, 
under the direction of celebrated men, have 
been opened in different parts of Paris. At most 
of these a fee is made for attendance, but this 
is generally almost nominal. Many foreign 
students, therefore, already well grounded in the 
initial stage of their art, prefer to go direct to 
one of these private ateliers to waiting for admis- 
sion to the Ecole itself. In spite, however, of 
these changes, the routine remains practically 
identical with what it was in my days; for there 
is no suspicion of rivalry between the studios 
beyond the kudos of producing the most success- 
ful pupils. The unaffected Bohemianism which 
so helped to enthuse one for one's work still 
exists as it did then. Class prejudice, and the 
" cuffs-and-collar brigade," are still unknown, for 
the " conventional " has no attraction for the 
student of the Quartier, where high spirits and 
even eccentricity in every form are winked at 



IX 



PREFACE 

benevolently by the authorities. I had a particu- 
larly pleasing instance of this not so long ago, 
which is perhaps worth recounting. I was 
piloting a friend who, as an architect, is naturally 
interested in all matters pertaining to Art, around 
the artistic haunts in the vicinity of the Rue 
Bonaparte, when I bethought me to show him a 
well-known atelier in the Rue du Dragon, where 
many of the advanced students of the Ecole paint 
from the Hfe during the afternoon, and where I 
had myself worked. Not without some little 
difficulty, as I learned that a nude female model 
was posing, and only after assuring the door- 
keeper that I was an old student, were we 
permitted to enter. Knowing what pranks might 
be played on two foreigners by a crowd of lively 
French students in a studio, I impressed on my 
friend the importance of appearing as uncon- 
cerned as possible. As we strolled round, looking 
at the amusing cartoons and the clever studies 
with which the walls were thickly covered, there 
was a dead silence, although it had been pretty 
noisy before we entered, and we realised that we 
were being taken stock of by the twenty odd 
students working round the model. After a few 
minutes, someone remarked loudly to his neigh- 
bour, and referring to us, of course: 

" I think the tall one is the father." To which 
the other replied : " No, I think the shorter man 
is the other one's uncle." And then there ensued 



PREFACE 

a mock conversation, amusing enough in the 
humorous way in which the simphcity of an 
" Ollendorf " exercise was sustained. 

We continued to walk round as unconcernedly 
as possible under the fire of badinage. At last 
the man who had started the chaff said: 

" Well, have it which way you please, but I 
don't think it's good form coming in here with 
collars and cuffs on this warm afternoon, when 
we're all so hot and thirsty." 

Naturally, I lost no time in taking up this cue, 
and so, addressing the nearest man to me — a 
tall, bearded fellow — I asked for the Massier, as 
the leader of a French ateher is called. This 
gentleman, upon hearing himself alluded to, 
came forward, and bowing low with great obse- 
quiousness, inquired in what way he could be of 
service to our " highnesses." I then explained 
that I was an old student, and was visiting the 
studio for the first time after many years. I 
added that in old times it was customary to 
" wet " such occasions, and it would give me very 
much pleasure if I could be permitted to do the 
same thing now. The Massier replied that my 
reasoning sounded good, so he asked the students 
what they thought of it. Their reply was quick 
and to the point. They immediately voted, 
amidst much merriment, that the seance should 
be suspended, whereupon they all rose, and after 
forming themselves into a sort of procession, we 



XI 



PREFACE 

adjourned to a small caf6 close by, whilst the 
model, who had slipped on a long coat over her 
nude form, and had donned a pair of slippers, 
came along also. All were brimming over with 
fun and good-fellowship. As soon as the drinks 
were handed round — and it will be of interest to 
mention that all had asked for black coffee — one 
of the men, who was evidently the orator of the 
studio, rose to his feet, and called out to his 
companions : " Gentlemen, let us drink to the 
health of His Most Gracious Majesty the King of 
England." A toast to which they all responded 
most heartily. Then someone cried out : " And 
to the entente cordiale also." Then followed a 
most charming and unaffected chat, all being 
much interested in what I, as an ancien, had 
been doing since I left Paris. Half an hour 
passed thus, as delightfully as possible, and then 
someone humorously suggested that the model 
would catch cold if she stayed out too long, and 
then they wouldn't be able to finish their painting. 
I strongly advised them not to run such a 
risk, so out we all trooped again, and shook hands 
all round on parting at the entrance of the studio. 

This impromptu glimpse of the camaraderie of 
the Latin Quarter impressed my friend im- 
mensely. As he expressed it, it was a revelation 
to him, and I could well understand it, for 
nothing of the sort could possibly exist in London. 

It is working under such conditions, and in this 



XU 



PREFACE 

atmosphere of unaffected simplicity, that makes 
the life of the student in Paris so fascinating, and 
which has provided the theme for so many books 
on the subject. 

In the following reminiscences I have not 
attempted to gloss over or palliate any of my 
little indiscretions and "aventures." They are 
part and parcel of the life of the student in Paris ; 
to have omitted recounting them would be like 
Hamlet without the ghost, therefore I can lay 
claim to no monopoly in this respect. My 
experiences were probably but the counterpart of 
those of many other students, as there is a terrible 
lack of originality in all " aventures " where the 
fair sex is concerned. I can only venture to hope 
that in my case they may present some new 
version of an old topic. That the personal pro- 
noun is so much in evidence throughout my 
narrative is unfortunately inevitable, but I trust 
any shortcoming in this respect may be forgiven, 
if only by reason of the fact that in reminiscences 
of this description it is impossible to write in the 
third person. I recollect once reading a comic 
autobiography in which there was a footnote, by 
the printer, to the effect that he had exhausted all 
the capital I's, and that he was obliged to use X's 
instead. 

I have done my best to avoid so dire a 
calamity. 

J. M. P. 



Xlll 



PAOB 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I 

I arrive in Paris — The house in the Rue de Reuilly — 
The Thomases and the Messiers — A bit of old 
Paris — I go to see Yvon and G^rome — A funny 
incident — I am accepted at the Ecole des Beaux 
Arts and received as a pupil in G^rome's studio . 

CHAPTER n 



Looking for lodgings — ^The Rue Visconti — The con- 
cierges — ^The " hotel " in the Rue de Seine — 
"Visions of romance — I am inscribed at the Beaux 
Arts — ^The Cours Yvon — William Stott of Oldham 
— Introduction to the Quartier Latin ... ii 

CHAPTER in 

I leave the Rue de Reuilly — My new quarters — I make 
a start at the Ecole — The three ateliers de peinture 
— G^rome's, Cabanel's and Lehmann's — The 
routine in the Antique — A probationer — My fair 
neighbour in the Rue de Seine — A disillusion — 
Working hours of Paris as compared with London 
— The gouter — Types of students — French, Eng- 
lish, and American — A stroll after work — Week- 
ends en famille — The house in the Pare des Princes 
at Auteull — Practical joking — An incident at the 
Theatre des Itallens — The fSte at Versailles — An 

interesting experience ig 

XV 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER IV 



PAGE 



I am passed for the atelier — My entr^a — The Massier 
— Paying my footing — An impromptu picnic — 
" Ragging " the nouveau — A duel with paint- 
brushes — The corvee — A little unpleasantness — A 
studio procession in the Quartier — Models — The 
visits of the " Patron " — An amusing incident — 
Sympathy between the artist and his pupils — 
Gdrome's kindly nature ..... 40 



CHAPTER V 

Dejeuner in the Quartier — Thirions — Curious incident 
in the Rue du Four — Arlequins k 2 sous — A joke 
on the waiter — Copying at the Louvre — Julians — 
The atelier in the Rue d'Uz^s .... 54 



CHAPTER VI 

The Quartier at night — ^The Boulevard St Michel — 
Petites ouvriferes — A good joke and its denoue- 
ment — Practical joking in the streets — The woman 
on the roof — Searching for a louis — The caf^s in 
the Quartier — Bullier — A conjuring trick — Joke 
on the cocher — Fun at the waxwork show . 60 



CHAPTER VII 

My first love affair — Rose — Excursion to Meudon — 
Robinson — Fontenay aux Ros'?s — A friture at 
Suresnes — La Grenouill^re — Amusing incident in 
a restaurant — Practical joke in a studio — I leave 
for London — Farewell dinner with Rose — A last 
letter — End of my first love affair ... 73 

xvi 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER VIII 



PAGE 



return to Paris — Looking for new quarters — The 
Rue de la Rochefoucauld — Buying furniture — The 
Baronne d'Ange — First night in my new room — 
Curious incident-— The restaurant in the Rue 
Vivienne — Eugenie — A rendezvous — A disappoint- 
ment — My first sale of a picture — The petit rentier 
— I am commissioned to paint a portrait — A 
worrying sitter ....... 85 



CHAPTER IX 

I am introduced at the Caf6 de la Rochefoucauld — 
The habitues of the caf^— Distinguished men one 
met there — A Whistler anecdote — Petites dames — 
Models— La Sagatore — La Belle Laure and her 
tragic ending — English girls at the cafe and a 
joke on one of them — A favourite with the ladies 
— A witty remark — Stray clients at the cafd — The 
end of the Caf^ de la Rochefoucauld — Bohemian- 
ism and some curious predicaments — Humorous 
situation 94 



CHAPTER X 

Caf^s in Montmartre — The Nouvelles Ath^nes — The 
Rat Mort — The Place Blanche — Amusing experi- 
ence — An incident on the Place Pigalle — The 
Abbaye de Th^l^me — The Elys^e Montmartre — The 
Moulin de la Galette — The fast women in the Rue 
Br6da and the Quartier de Notre Dame de 
Lorette — Brasseries and caf^s — The frail sister- 
hood — The underworld of Montmartre — The 
artists' colony — Studios — Artists' models on the 
Place Pigalle — The studio district — The inception 
of the Cabaret du Chat Noir — Rodolphe Sails 
" Gentilhomme Cabaretier " — Removal of the 
xvii 



CONTENTS 



PAQS 



Cabaret to the Rue de Laval — Remarkable proces- 
sion — A midnight escapade — Artistic surround- 
ings of the " Chat Noir " — The theatre — Famous 
productions — Array of talent — Great success of the 
cabaret — Imitation " Chat Noirs " — ^The Lion 
d'Or — New school of decoration . . . • iio 



CHAPTER XI 

Commission to paint portrait of Monsieur Thomas for 
the Salon^^ — I make a start — A studio in the Rue 
de Reuilly — Amusing episode — The portrait fin- 
ished — " Sending-in " day — " Accepted " — A little 
dinner to celebrate event — A funny incident — The 
lady and the lion— The Vernissage at the Salon 
— Coveted invitations — The eventful day — The 
scene outside the Palais de 1' Industrie — The search 
for one's picture — ^The crowd — Smart people — 
Dejeuner at Ledoyens — The scene in the Sculpture 
Hall after lunch — A drive in the Bois and a bock at 
the Cascade ........ X3J 

CHAPTER XII 

I move to the Rue Fontaine St Georges — I am com- 
missioned to paint the portrait of Madame Thomas 
— Buying more furniture — A house-warming — 
Amusing jeu d 'esprit — I take a situdio with a friend 
— The Passage Lathuille — A bad neighbourhood 
— Low rental — Studio furniture — Lady visitors — 
Impromptu lunches — The amateur model — An 
amusing experience — Attractive personality of the 
average female model — " Wrong uns " — Earnings 
of models — Faux manages— Long " collages " — 
Cat-and-dog existence — Middle-aged ex-models — 
The morals of the ancienne cocotte — How a col- 
lage usually commences — An artistic anecdote — 
Coolness of Frenchmen nowadays — An incident in 
a caf^ — Mon amie in the Rue Frochot — Laughable 

incident — A lapse of memory 139 

xviii 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER XIII 

PAGE 

The Bal des Quatz Arts — Difficulty of obtaining ticket 
— My costume — Rendezvous at cai6 — Indelicate 
costumes of ladies — Starting for the Elys^e Mont- 
martre — Sergents de ville guarding entrance — 
Stringent precautions — Impressions of ballroom 
scene — Grorgeous costumes of men — Distinguished 
painters — Nude girls — Blatant indecency of dia- 
phanous evening dresses — Extraordinary spectacle 
— Wild danciing and deafening music — I meet a 
little model — Her costume — Processions of differ- 
ent ateliers — Wonderful effects — Supper served — 
The danse du ventre on one of the tables — No 
drunkenness a feature of the ball — Procession of 
students to Quartier Latin in morning — Arrest of 
a nude girl in street — True hospitality . . 156 



CHAPTER XIV 

Visit to the district of Fontainebleau — Marlotte — The 
village — The open-air painters — The village inn — 
The panels in the salle k manger — Painting every- 
where — The forest — The main street — Food at the 
hotel — The petit vin — The table d'hdte — The people 
one met — Cheery crowd — Billiards — " Le jeu au 
bouchon " — O de Penne celebrated painter of 
sporting pictures — His maitresse — Their marriage 
— His house and bedroom — Ciceri, the landscape 
painter — His knowledge of women — " Her old 
man's day " — The daily routine in Marlotte — A 
new arrival — A radiant vision — The chic Parisienne 
— A new acquaintance — L'Inconnue — The com- 
mencement of a love story — Delightful days — A 
shock — ^The end of the romance .... 170 

xix 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER XV 



PAGE 



Another incident at Marlotte — The American artist — 
A caricature after dinner — A mysterious departure 
— An unpleasant surprise for Marlotte — My carica- 
ture at the Prefecture de Police — Lost in the Palace 
of Fontainebleau — Exciting- adventure — Unpopu- 
larity — An amusing joke 190 



CHAPTER XVI 

A visit to Moret — Funny adventure on way to station 
— A good-natured Frenchman — Willing hands — 
Arrival at station — Amusement of bystanders — Lost 
belongings — Incident in carriage — Disagreeable 
passenger — No smoking — A whistling story — 
Another smoking story — The bully and the ban- 
tam — A curious military incident at the Gare St 
Lazare — Moret and its surroundings — Lolling as 
a fine art 203 



CHAPTER XVII 

Changing characteristics of Montmartre — Advent of 
music — The Divan Japonais — The opening night 
— A merry evening — The orchestra — The audience 
oblige on the piano — An impromptu dance — Going 
round Montmartre — A " chinois sur lo zinc " — 
The gar^on de marchand de vins — An unexpected 
musical talent— The gargon becomes a great 
pianist — Christmas in Montmartre — A party in 
studio in the Rue Bochard de Saron— Artistic 
arrangements — I give an impromptu ventriloquial 
entertainment — Extraordinary effect — " All's well 
that ends well " — Another incident — A duel by 
arrangement — Drawing lots — An unexpected 
climax ......... 216 

XX 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER XVIII 



PAGB 



Some strange examples of Bahemianism — The hidden 
treasure — An unexpected meeting after several 
years — A pathetic story — The dead child — Another 
incident — A bad-tempered, jealous woman and a 
meek artist — The worm turns at last — A dramatic 
ending to collage — Perverted Bohemianism — The 
young student and the married woman — Ruin and 
disgrace — The usurers of the Quartier Latin — 
Their hunting-ground and their agents — The spider 
and the fly — Speculative risks of money-lenders — 
Cherchez la femme — Contrast between Paris and 
London — Student life 230 



CONCLUSION 

Bohemian life in Paris — The charm of the caf^ 
— Gradual change in one's tastes — The chez 
soi — Progress in one's work — New friends — Forced 
to return to England — A final visit to G6rome . 260 



XXI 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGB 
Portrait of the Author in 1886. From a 

f>ainting by Solomon J. Solomon, R.A. . Frontispiece 
It was usually a question as to which was the least 

dilapidated and dirty 12 

The concierges varied as much as the rooms ... 14 

A little place in the Rue de Buci 17 

Across the road to the marchand de vin for gotiter . 24 

The types of students varied curiously .... 26 
In a very few minutes they were both covered with 

colour and in a hideous mess 44 

Used to come round of a morning with a case of brushes 

and colours 50 

J. L. G^rome 52 

The Louvre, where there was an atmosphere of hard work 58 

It was often quite amusing 68 

Rose 74 

And I was more in love with her thani ever ... 76 

His appearance of intense respectability .... 90 
One of the girls was very pretty, fair hair, nice teeth, 

good figure, blue eyes 102 

They were dancers at the Folies Berg^res . . . 106 

At the cslU 112 

The whole district was full of women and their souteneurs 116 

The women sat at the tables in gloomy silence . . 120 

At the "Chat Noir " 124 

xxiii 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

My first exhibited picture. (Portrait of Monsieur I 

Thomas. Paris Salon, 1881) .... 

Models 

Stood irresolute before me where I sat at my easel 

A very sympathetic and attractive personality 

As here and there a pair of bare legs or a snowy neck 

and shoulders passed through .... 
Those diaphanous evening dresses .... 
Either painting or strolling about in the weirdest of 

garbs 

Full of his own conceit . . . . 

As though in a dream ...... 

In the evenings we generally managed to put in a cheery 

time going round to the different caf^s 
She was of so jealous a nature .... 
These arrives who in their time were amongst the most 

devil-may-care spirits of the Quartier 



136 
142 
146 

148 

160 
164 

172 

174 

188 

218 
240 

260 



XXIV 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS 
IN PARIS 



CHAPTER I 

I arrive in Paris — The house in the Rue de Reuilly — ^The 
Thomases and the Messiers — A bit of old Paris — I go to 
see Yvon and G^rome — A funny incident — I am accepted 
at the Ecole des Beaux Arts and received as a pupil in 
G^rorne's studio. 

It is a grand thing to be young and on the right 
side of twenty, but unfortunately one does not 
realise it till long afterwards, when it is too late ; 
not that it would make much difference I suppose 
if one did, for one cannot put old heads on young 
shoulders — still it is curious how lightly one un- 
consciously takes life when one is on the threshold 
of it. When the years stretch away in front of one 
through a long vista of hope and ambition bathed 
in the radiant sunshine of youth — why should one 
worry about disappointments and rough times that 
may perchance be awaiting one. Vive la vie is 
the device on the banner of youth — and always 

I A 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

will be. I was perhaps no more philosophical in 
those early days of my career than the average 
youth, but I was endowed with a strong perception 
of the romantic side of things, and I can well recol- 
lect how delightful were my impressions when I 
found myself in the train en route for Paris with 
the prospect of several years of student life before 
me. Buoyed up with the enthusiasm of my years, 
the journey appeared to me like the realisation of 
a dream, and I felt like some bold adventurer of 
old setting forth to make my fortune. 

I was, however, leaving London under sad con- 
ditions — both my parents having died a short time 
previously ; but some old friends of my father were 
ready to welcome me, so I found a delightful home 
waiting me in their midst. I shall never forget 
those early days, and have often since wondered 
whether an English family would have received a 
raw youth, a foreigner — and quite a stranger to 
them — with such open-hearted and affectionate 
hospitality and sympathy as was shown me by these 
kindly French people ; had I been of their own 
kith and kin I could not have found more good- 
will. Fortunately for me, I already spoke French 
rather well, and I had a thorough knowledge of it, 
as I had spent a couple of years in a school in 
Brussels — and this therefore helped a good deal 
to remove the diffidence I should have doubtless 
felt amongst strangers had I not been able to con- 
verse with them, with ease. This, coro.bined with 

2 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

a good constitution, a fine appetite, and a very 
limited exchequer, constituted the sum-total of my 
available assets. I must not, however, forget to 
add that I had brought with me a parcel of draw- 
ings and sketches and a letter of introduction to 
Adolphe Yvon, the celebrated painter of military 
subjects and Professor at the Ecole des Beaux 
Arts. 

My time for the first few days after my arrival 
in Paris was spent in a luxury which was no doubt 
ill-fitted to prepare me for the rough times when 
I should be looking after myself on my very slender 
allowance ; still it was indeed very pleasant. My 
friends were wealthy people. Monsieur Messier, 
a retired manufacturer of couleurs pour papiers 
peints, lived with his wife in a beautiful villa at 
Auteuil in the Pare des Princes, where they enter- 
tained with princely hospitality; his son-in-law, 
Monsieur Isidore Thomas, his successor in the 
business, managed the factory, which was situated 
in the Rue de Reuilly, a thoroughfare off the 
revolutionary Faubourg St Antoine. He and his 
wife and their little son Alexandre lived at the 
" Fabrique." 

This factory was quite unique in itlself, and 
probably the last of its kind in Paris. It was a 
relic of the past, when the maitre lived amongst 
his ouvriers and took a paternal interest in their 
affairs. Once through the lofty porte-cochere 
leading from the street one found oneself trans- 

3 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

planted as it were into the provinces, so sudden 
and unexpected was the change. The factory, 
which was surrounded by high walls, formed a big 
quadrangle, in the centre of which stood the house 
of the maitre in the midst of a veritable oasis of 
fine old trees; around it was a large garden of 
several acres in extent, in which fruit and 
vegetables were grown in abundance. It was 
difficult at first to realise that one was actually in 
Paris whilst seated at dejeuner or dinner on the 
lawn. 

Monsieur Thomas was a handsome and genial 
giant of about forty-five years of age, and both he 
and his wife were the very personification of good- 
nature and human kindness. Both were gifted 
with a rare sense of humour which still further 
helped to make the house in Rue de Reuilly a 
delightful abode. 

But I was in Paris to work hard — not to play, 
and although I could have prolonged my stay with 
them indefinitely, I was anxious to make a start. 
The first thing to be done was to present my letter 
of introduction to Yvon, as on his verdict depended 
my admission to the Ecole des Beaux Arts — ^where 
I hoped to continue my studies ; so off I went one 
day, accompanied by Monsieur Thomas. 

Yvon lived in the Rue de la Tour at Passy — in 
a big barn of a house particularly bourgeois in 
appearance. We were received in the atelier by 
the celebrated painter, a stout, bearded man — of 

4 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

slovenly appearance — his hair and general appear- 
ance so unkempt as to give one the impression he 
had not washed since he got up — yet it was close 
on midday; this untidiness was, I recollect, still 
further accentuated by his costume, which merely 
consisted of a red flannel shirt and a pair of very 
loose trousers, which looked like dropping down at 
any moment, as he wore no braces or belt. Alto- 
gether he did not impress me, young as I was. He 
received us in a somewhat pompous manner, which 
did not go well with his appearance ; still, after 
reading the letter and looking at the work I had 
brought with me, he told Monsieur Thomas that 
I might join his afternoon cours de dessin at the 
Ecole — and then sat down and wrote a letter for 
me to present to the famous artist Gerome who 
had one of the three ateHers de peinture at the 
Ecole. 

" If he will take him as his eleve he will have 
nothing further to worry about," he said to Mon- 
sieur Thomas. " Let him show him this drawing 
when you go," picking out one of the roll I had 
brought with me. 

As we took our leave after thanking him for his 
kindness he seemed to suddenly throw off his re- 
serve of manner, and shaking me cordially by the 
hand he told me that he expected me to call on 
him on Sundays whenever I had any special work 
to show him to ask his advice about. " I expect 
all my eleves to do this," he added. 

5 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

It would have been impossible to have started 
under better auspices, and Monsieur Thomas — 
the dear old fellow — was if anything even more 
delighted than I was, and as we returned to 
Paris he already congratulated me on my future 
successes. The next step then was to go to see 
Gerome, who lived in the Boulevard de Clichy. 
At that time he was at the zenith of his fame, and 
his name was a household word not only in France 
but all over the world. Monsieur Thomas was 
very much impressed at the idea of our calling on 
such a celebrity — much more in fact that when we 
went to see Yvon. I remember he got himself 
up specially for the occasion as though we were 
going to a wedding — a new tall hat, light grey 
trousers, lavender kid gloves, a resplendent tie. 
We arrived at the house, and on his announcing 
with a certain amount of pride to the concierge 
that we had a letter of introduction to the maitre 
we were simply told to go upstairs by ourselves 
and that we would find him in the studio. There 
was an entire lack of formality — so up we went. 

The house was exquisitely furnished — the stair- 
case was richly carpeted, and the walls were covered 
with Eastern tapestries and trophies, whilst 
oriental lamps hung from the ceiling. It was in- 
deed the house of a great painter, and to me, a 
youngster unused to such artistical splendour, it 
was like a dream of the Arabian nights. We made 
our way upstairs in awed silence. There was not 

6 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

a soul about, so we paused at the different 
landings to furtively glance in at the gorgeous 
apartments. By the time we reached the top 
floor Monsieur Thomas, who was a portly man, 
was puffing audibly ; he wasn't accustomed to stair 
climbing, although it was only the third floor, and 
as it was a hot day the perspiration was pouring 
down his face. There was only one door on the top 
landing so he knocked timidly in case this wasn't 
the atelier — no reply — he knocked again louder — a 
voice seemingly from far away called out " Entrez 
done." We entered and found ourselves on the 
threshold of an immense studio ; right away in the 
distance was a grey-haired gentleman of military 
appearance seated before an easel, palette and 
brushes in hand, whilst a model in an Eastern 
costume was posing on a platform in front of him. 
In between us and where he sat was an immense 
expanse of polished floor which looked as slippery 
as ice. We both stood on the edge of it in 
the doorway, irresolute as to what we ought 
to do. 

" Mais entrez done, mes amis," called out the 
artist benevolently, seeing our hesitation. 

Monsieur Thomas to my surprise then attempted 
some impossible feat of balancing his hat, gloves, 
and umbrella in the corner of the door, whilst fum- 
bUng in his pocket for the letter of introduction. 
Then the inevitable happened, as he was not a 
born juggler — the hat and umbrella skidded on the 

7 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

polished floor, then fell down, and rolled out into 
the studio, and in endeavouring to regain them he 
nearly came to grief himself on the treacherous 
surface. I had the greatest difficulty in preventing 
myself from bursting out laughing, so funny did 
he look. This interlude would have probably 
continued some time had not Gerome, who had 
meanwhile taken off his pince-nez and was looking 
on with an amused air, called out laughingly, 
" Don't worry about your belongings, they won't 
hurt on the floor." 

Monsieur Thomas pulled himself together, 
wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead, 
and we made our way gingerly across the atelier. 

" Une lettre de mon ami Yvon a propos de 
ce jeune homme, voyons 9a," said the maitre 
genially as he opened the letter of introduction. 
" Well," he continued, turning to Monsieur Thomas 
after he had read it, " what has he brought to show 
me in the shape of his work } " 

With much trepidation I undid the drawing from 
the antique which Yvon had suggested my bring- 
ing. It was one which the Royal Academy in 
London had not considered good enough to admit 
me as a student in the school of that august insti- 
tution. I felt that my whole future practically 
depended on the opinion he passed on it. He put 
on his glasses and examined it critically — the 
next few seconds seemed interminable — then he 
exclaimed, " Mais 9a n'est pas mal du tout," and 

8 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

turning to my friend, whom he evidently thought 
was my guardian, he added, " Je le prendrai chez 
moi " ; then he went over to his bureau and wrote 
out some instructions as to what I had to do — 
where to present myself, and so forth. The whole 
interview had not lasted ten minutes. 

Emboldened by his friendliness, I then ventured 
to produce a water-colour drawing I had made up 
the river, and which I was particularly satisfied 
with. It was an evening effect — with a harvest 
moon reflected in the water. Very original and 
poetical I thought. I remember I called it " The 
moon is up and yet it is not night." But it wasn't 
to be all compliments, for he let me down with a 
run when he said briefly after a glance at it, " C'est 
un peu plat d'epinards " (It looks rather like a dish 
of spinach) ; adding, " You must put aside your 
paint-box for the present and continue to work from 
the antique — le dessin c'est I'essentiel avant tout — 
don't think of decorating the house until the walls 
are up." Then rising from his seat to signify that 
that was an end of it, he shook me warmly by the 
hand saying, " Alors vous voila lance, mon ami — 
ayez du courage, travaillez ferme et 9a ira." The 
unaffected simplicity and charm of his manner 
went to my very heart. 

As we came down the stairs I was in so wild a 
state of excitement that I felt as though walking 
on air — for was not my career in my own hands 
henceforth? Accepted by Gerome and Yvon, 

9 



JMY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

naught now remained but to get to work and stick at 
it for all I was worth. 

It may be of interest to mention that there was 
not a penny piece to pay for all these advantages. 
From this moment I was practically on the same 
footing as the French students, and could remain 
at the Ecole as long as I pleased. 

Now came the important question of finding 
lodgings. 



10 



CHAPTER II 

Looking for lodging's — The Rue Visconti — The concierges — 
The " hotel " in the Rue de Seine — Visions of romance — I 
am inscribed at the Beaux Arts — ^The Cours Yvon — 
William Stott of Oldham — Introduction to the Quartier 
Latin. 

The artistic life of Paris in those days was divided 
into two camps as it were. The younger men 
generally were to be found in the Latin Quarter 
in the neighbourhood of the Ecole des Beaux Arts 
— whilst the men of maturer years who had finished 
with the schools had mostly chosen the heights 
of Montmartre for their studios. The two groups 
were therefore widely separated. Nowadays it 
is very different, the two areas having spread con- 
siderably, and the districts round Montparnasse 
and the Pare Monceau are full of artists. From 
the student point of view the vicinity of the 
Rue Bonaparte was the best place in Paris to live 
in, as it was near the Ecole and the Louvre — so 
I was advised to look for a room somewhere round 
about there. Of course my friend and mentor, 
Monsieur Thomas, accompanied me in my search ; 
whether he thought I was too young to be allowed 
to hunt round for myself, or that he and his wife 

II 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

feared I might fall into bad company, did not 
transpire, but at any rate he gave up several days 
of his valuable time to help me fix myself up. I 
could not have had a more delightful companion — 
although old enough to be my father, he had the 
temperament of a boy, and thoroughly enjoyed 
everything, even, I verily believe, to climbing up 
the steep stairs in the old houses — for cheap rooms, 
such as I was looking for, were invariably close to 
the roof. 

Of variety and choice there was no end — even 
at the very moderate rent I was only able to give ; 
the difficulty was to make up my mind. It was 
usually a question as to which was the least dilapi- 
dated and dirty — the sanitation being always such 
that the less said about it the better. I suppose 
there could have been no city in Europe in those 
days where less attention was paid to this subject. 
Apart though from such trifles as these, there were 
often other peculiarities about these old rooms for 
which I was not prepared to pay. I remember 
one place in the Rue Visconti — a narrow thorough- 
fare off the Rue Bonaparte — a fine old house, as 
it had evidently been the mansion of an aristocrat 
in bygone times. The room to let was not very high 
up — only on the second floor ; it was very large 
and looked over an expanse of garden — a some- 
what unusual thing to find m the Quartier Latin. 
It appeared to be altogether just what I wanted — 
plenty of light and air; still it was very, very old 

12 







IT WAS USUALLY A QUESTION AS TO WHICH WAS THE 
LEAST DILAPIDATED AND DIRTY." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

indeed, and also, to put it mildly, somewhat smelly, 
and there was a peculiar odour about it which I did 
not then know, but which became quite familiar 
after a little while in Paris. I at first thought it 
was because the window had been closed for some 
days, till I happened to notice something on the 
wall by the bed, which was in an alcove. I 
drew my friend's attention to it. He laughingly 
remarked to the concierge that the room although 
to let was " deja habitee." 

" Oh," she repHed, with a shrug of her shoulders, 
" that's nothing — a sou's worth of insecticide a day 
and they'd never worry him much." 

As I had come to Paris to study Art, not 
entomology, I thought I wouldn't chance it — one 
subject at a time would be sufficient. I was 
sorry, though, as it was a delightful old place — 
architecturally, I mean. The majority of the rooms 
we saw looked as though they'd never had a coat 
of paint or fresh wall-paper since the house was 
built, and one required to be very young and full 
of enthusiasm for work to make up one's mind to 
live in such dirt. In some of these I recollect the 
windows did not look out on the street or even 
the courtyard, but actually got their light and air 
from the grimy staircase ; these were often known 
as " logements de gar^on." Still they were cheap, 
and that was the principal desiratum from the 
average student's point of view. At one place 
twelve francs a month was all that was asked for 

13 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

one of these gloomy logements, and " furnished " 
at that. 

The concierges varied as much as the rooms. 
Sometimes she would be a motherly sort of woman 
who would accompany us cheerfully even to the 
sixth floor, dilating the while on the advantages 
the house offered, till you almost felt that it would 
be unkind not to take the room. At others the 
janitor would be a terrible sort of person, before 
whom one had to present oneself with all humility, 
asking as a favour to be informed what there was 
to let — and then if it suited her august convenience 
she would perhaps condescend to show us. I may 
here mention that it does not require a very lengthy 
residence in Paris to discover that one's peace of 
mind practically depends on the temperament of 
one's concierge. I was somewhat fortunate in 
this respect, as I came across some very civil 
and decent ones ; but the majority, from what I 
heard and saw of them, were gossiping, mischief- 
making hussies who struck terror into the soul 
of the unfortunate individual who was not ready 
to the very moment with his rent. However, 
revenons a nos moutons. 

We were both tired out and sick of going up 
and down steep stairs when I happened to spot a 
" hotel " we had not noticed before, in the Rue de 
Seine. Yes, they had a room to let, fortunately 
for me as they seemed very civil people. Would 
we like to see it? It was on the first floor — that 

14 



/ ■..■■J.-- , — • ■■'■ '■-^ 




K 



J.KJt 






'the concierges varied as much as the rooms. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

seemed all right. So up we went. It was not a 
large room, but the window opened on to a wide 
sort of terrace overlooking the street — ideal for a 
breath of air in the summer, I thought. Two 
adjoining rooms also opened on to the terrace. 

We were discussing the rent, which was a little 
higher than I wanted to give, when I suddenly saw 
a very pretty hand and arm appear at one of the 
windows on the terrace, and arrange the curtains 
which had blown out with the breeze. Visions of 
one of those romances of Paris I had read at once 
flashed through my mind — I was determined to 
have the room even if it did cost me more than I 
ought to pay. To the surprise of my friend I said 
without any further hesitation that I thought it 
would suit me, and that I'd take it at once — so it 
was settled that I should take possession as soon 
as I liked. As we came downstairs Monsieur 
Thomas asked me why I had made up my mind 
so quickly. 

" The terrace decided me," I replied. 

" Perhaps you are right — it will give you a little 
more air ; but a deal depends on what your neigh- 
bours are like." 

The room, I should add, was furnished, such as 
it was, not luxuriously perhaps, but quite as well 
as anything I had seen hitherto ; at any rate, I 
was now fixed up — if I didn't like it later I could 
always look for something else. 

When we got back to the Rue de Reuilly my 

IS 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

good friends simply overwhelmed me with advice 
as to what and what not to do, and even went so 
far as to arrange every item of my daily expendi- 
ture to a centime almost. At the same time, they 
drew such a picture of the many pitfalls and temp- 
tations which were about to beset me in my new 
hfe, that I really began to feel quite nervous as to 
what was Hkely to happen to me. However, the 
feeling arose that I was now a student of the 
Quartier Latin and on my own, so I did not 
let myself become unduly depressed by their 
pessimistic though good-natured warnings. At 
the same time I must confess it — there was still 
in my mmd the recollection of the vision of female 
loveliness I had caught the glimpse of at the 
window on the terrace. 

Fortunately Monsieur Thomas had not seen it 
— or I fancy his advice would have been somewhat 
different, as I was a youngster at that time ; whilst 
as to what Madame Thomas would have said had 
she known what was in my mind, I don't like to 
think, although they were neither of them the least 
bit narrow-minded or strait-laced. 

The following day I found my way to the £cole 
des Beaux Arts and presented my letter from 
Gerome at the bureau. I was then duly inscribed 
on the books and presented with an oval-shaped 
card on which was written my name, nationality, 
age, and address, together with the atelier to which 
I was admitted as an eleve. The porter then 

i6 




m: 



I 

1 f 

" I 



0h ^ 







A LITTLE PLACE IN THE RUE DE BUCI. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

obligingly indicated where the Cours Yvon was 
held, and the big hall full of casts from the 
antique where I had been told by Gerome to com- 
mence my studies. Making my way there, and 
whilst having a look round and wondering what I 
had better do to make a start, I suddenly heard 
myself addressed in English by a burly young 
fellow who was making a drawing close by. 

" You're a new-comer, aren't you ? Who are 
you with ? " 

" Gerome," I replied, with much pride. 

" That's lucky," he answered, " so am I. What's 
your name? Mine is Stott — William Stott of 
Oldham. I'll take you round and show you what 
you've got to do — it will save you a lot of time 
finding it all out by yourself." 

So we had a stroll through the hall and the 
courtyard, and in a very short time were quite pals, 
and then he suggested our going to have a cup 
of coffee and a smoke at a little place in the Rue 
de Buci which was the rendezvous then of many 
budding artists. Thus my introduction to student 
life in the Quartier was quite a delightful experi- 
ence to me. As we sat chatting and comparing 
notes, as it were, and discussing our mutual plans 
for the future, I already realised the curious 
fascination of the free Bohemian life of Paris — and 
could conceive how largely it is instrumental in 
bringing out individuality and self-reliance by 
fostering enthusiasm for one's work. These 

17 B 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

informal gatherings in the cafes of the Quartier were 
the means of bringing together in friendly relation- 
ship men who would otherwise perhaps not have 
met at all outside the atelier. 

We afterwards had a stroll round, talking of 
painting, and ending by discovering we had some 
mutual friends in England; then, as I was in no 
particular hurry to get home, we dined together in 
a Httle restaurant in the Rue St Benoit crowded 
with students, and where Stott seemed to know 
everybody from the patron downwards. The 
dinner was a very decent one considering it 
cost only 1.25 vin compris, for Stott like myself 
was not overburdened with wealth — in fact he ex- 
plained to me that he had to be pretty careful Vv^hen 
it was getting towards the end of the month ; 
besides which, as he said, there were other things 
more amusing than food to spend one's money on. 
It was not long before I realised that also. 



18 



CHAPTER III 

I leave the Rue de Reuilly— My new quarters — I make a 
start at the ^cole— The three ateliers de peinture— 
G6rome's, Cabanel's and Lehmann's— The routine in the 
Antique— A probaticxier — My fair neighbour in the Rue 
de Seine — A disillusion — Working hours of Paris as 
compared with London — The gouter — Types of students — 
French, English, and American — A stroll after work — 
Week-ends en famille — The house in the Pare des Princes 
at Auteuil — Practical joking — An incident at the Th^itre 
des Italiens — The f^te at Versailles — An interesting 
experience. 

It was with considerable misgiving that I dragged 
myself away from the delightful house in the Rue 
de Reuilly, although it was arranged that I should 
always spend my week-ends either at Auteuil or 
with the Thomases. I felt a lump in my throat 
when the time came for me to be leaving; it 
seemed to me that I was on the threshold of a 
new life, and that my boyhood was over. Hitherto 
I had lived at home, where I had no worries or 
responsibilities, but henceforth I was to be prac- 
tically dependent on my own individual resources. 
Not unnaturally I felt a certain diffidence, but I 
pulled myself together and determined to get on 
if it lay in my power to do so. My room in the 

19 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Rue de Seine seemed particularly dreary and 
poverty-stricken after the luxury I had been 
accustomed to, and the few personal belongings 
I possessed appeared but a sorry lot when they 
were brought upstairs. There was however 
naught for it but to make the best of the situation, 
so I unpacked and then made my way to the Ecole, 
where Stott had promised to meet me. 

Under his guidance it did not take long to get 
into the routine of the work. All new-comers, 
however much experience they might have had 
previously, were obliged to start in the " antique." 
This was obligatory. All that was necessary in 
the shape of equipment were a chair and a stool, 
a cardboard portfolio to hold one's paper and serve 
also as drawing-board, some charcoal, and, most 
necessary of all to the novice, stale bread to rub 
out with. (It would be interesting to know how 
much bread is used in a year by beginners.) 

There were three ateliers de peinture at the 
Ecole — Gerome's, Cabanel's, and Lehmann's. 
They were all situated on the first floor, and 
entirely distinct from one another, but in the 
novitiate stage, when drawing in the antique, 
everyone worked in the big hall where he pleased. 

The Patron, as one's master was affectionately 
termed, visited his ateher twice a week, on Wed- 
nesday and Saturday mornings, and after inspect- 
ing the painters, he would come through the 
antique to look at the work of his new pupils. As 

20 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

soon as he entered, it was customary to stand up 
by one's easel, as otherwise he would not know 
which were his eleves amongst the crowd at work. 
His visit did not usually occupy more than a few 
minutes. A few words of encouragement — or the 
reverse — and one was left to one's own devices, to 
work hard or otherwise — as one chose. 

Every now and then, when there was room in 

the atelier, a sort of informal concours was held 

for admittance, and a certain number of drawings 

selected. Until then one was only a probationer 

and could not go upstairs even to visit a friend in 

the atelier. It may be imagined, therefore, how 

eagerly one looked forward to getting out of the 

first stage ; but it was long and heart-breaking, 

for, under the French system, all previous notions 

of drawing had to be changed. Still, experience 

helped considerably to shorten one's time in the 

antique ; it was different to being an absolute 

beginner. Whilst working downstairs, therefore, 

one could do practically as one pleased, work or 

play — as for the matter of that was the case in the 

ateHer, but there was none of the incentive and 

enthusiasm one found later when painting from the 

life. The antique was the drudgery of the training, 

but everyone had been through it at the Ecole 

by the time he went into the atelier. You were 

not supposed to even possess a paint-box till you 

could draw — such was the thoroughness of the 

system; straightforward, broad draughtsmanship 

21 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

with none of the superfluous detail and finish 
which was required of the student in those days 
by the Royal Academy in London. I had already 
done a considerable amount of drawing from the 
cast before I went to Paris, so it did not appear 
quite so tedious to me ; still I had not thought I 
should have to go through it all again. 

Later in the afternoon I went to the Cours 
Yvon, which was held in an amphitheatre of the 
£cole. In those days only a very limited number 
of eleves were allowed, so I could consider myself 
fortunate in having been accepted. Here, at any 
rate, was a break from the monotony of the 
antique, as the class was held simply for rapid 
drawing from the life ; but it was a very serious 
affair, and no talking whatever was permitted. 

I was up betimes the following morning, not 
entirely because I wanted to get down to the 
School early, but in the hope of catching a glimpse 
of my fair neighbour before I went out. I opened 
my window, when, to my annoyance, I saw a big, 
bearded individual in scanty attire leaning over 
the rail smoking a pipe. I was wondering if he 
was the occupant of the room on the other side of 
mine, when he was joined by a fat, fair woman of 
uncertain age, and not the least attractive in 
appearance, in a loose peignoir, who came from 
the room which, in my mind's eye, I had pictured 
as containing the elements of a romance. This 
was the owner of the arm and hand that had con- 

22 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

jured in my youthful imagination such visions of 
female lovehness and romance. I felt very disap- 
pointed, but as my room was really not uncomfort- 
able and very conveniently situated, I consoled 
myself with the thought that I might have been 
worse off elsewhere, and that, as I was not going 
to be indoors very often, it didn't much matter — 
all of which was doubtless very philosophical. I 
remember I told Stott about it, and he roared with 
laughter, and said it was the richest thing he'd 
heard for a long time, my jumping at the room on 
the sight of a plump arm at the next window. 

" Never mind, old man," he added, " you'll 
probably have lots of new neighbours if you stay 
there long enough, so better luck next time." 

But this couple had evidently got a lease of their 
room, for they were still there when I left. My 
neighbour on the other side of the terrace turned 
out to be a student — a young Hungarian — with 
whom I got to be on rather friendly terms. My 
home surroundings were, therefore, of the most 
prosaic and unromantic character for the moment. 

In Paris the day practically begins two hours 
ahead of London, and although there was no fixed 
hour for starting work in the antique, one un- 
consciously got into the habit of commencing as 
early as possible, so by eight o'clock in the summer 
one had already got into full swing. 

I soon found my way about the Quartier. There 
was a little cremerie close by, where one got a bowl 

23 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

of excellent coffee and a roll for thirty centimes. 
This, at half-past seven, constituted breakfast ; at 
ten, Stott and I used to knock off for a little while 
and go across the road to the marchand de vin for 
gouter, which consisted of a glass of white wine and 
a croissant. This cost another thirty centimes ; 
and this gouter made a welcome break in the long 
morning. For dejeuner, there was the choice of 
several little cheap restaurants round about, where 
one could suit one's meal — not to one's appetite, 
that would never have done — but to one's purse ; 
then after a coffee and a cigarette, back to the 
School to work all the afternoon. 

It was hard and monotonous, but buoyed up 
with the thought that it would not be long before 
one got into the atelier, the days passed quick 
enough, I recollect the envy with which one 
looked on the men who were working upstairs — 
bearded, long-haired fellows in all manner of 
fantastic garb, with slouch hats rakishly worn, 
cigarette on lip, and big paint-boxes slung by a 
strap on their shoulders. These men to our eyes 
were what were known as " arrives," and we all 
hoped to be like them some day. 

The types of students varied curiously, and 
formed quite a study in itself. There were 
three categories. The " rapins," or veriest 
beginners — youths who looked like a drawing 
by Gavarni, and affected a " get-up " which they 
fondly imagined proved them to be born artists — 

24 




"across the road to the marchand de vin for gouter." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

long hair cut a la Leonardo da Vinci, flat-brimmed, 
black, sombrero hats, enormous bow ties, velvet 
coats, and pegtop trousers. These fellows were 
always talking Art, and laying down their views 
on it, whilst running down the works of all the 
great old masters of any school, indiscriminately. 
It was condescension on their part to even admit 
there were any artists before their own advent 
in the world. Then there were the " poseurs " — 
most insufferable snobs — who would talk loudly to 
their pals, whilst working, about their friend, the 
dear Duchess of this, or their uncle, the Vicomte 
of that, and so forth, for the benefit of all around. 
But this big talk didn't impress us much if we 
happened to hear it. The aristocracy inspired no 
awe in the mind of the average student; rather 
the contrary— it and the sale bourgeois, who were 
born rich and idle, excited disgust and contempt, 
which was often expressed in forcible terms. 

There was a funny way of letting the " poseurs " 
know what was thought of their bombastic talk, 
when, for instance, one of them mentioned perhaps 
how he had been dining the evening previously 
with someone of title. Immediately the crowd 
working round would imitate in chorus the bugle 
call with which it is customary to receive a general 
when he rides on to parade. There would be a 
yell of laughter, and this usually stopped them 
bragging, for that day at any rate. 

Then there were the English and the Ameri- 

25 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

cans, mostly quiet, reserved, and well-dressed 
fellows, who kept themselves very much to them- 
selves, seldom attempting to join in any " ragging," 
probably because their knowledge of French was 
as a rule very limited ; in fact, it was this reserve 
which accounted for so few of them acquiring any 
proficiency in the language. I knew several men 
who had lived several years in Paris, yet could 
scarcely speak a word of French ; they were always 
speaking English, and did not appear to care to 
associate with anyone outside their own set. 

With the exception of the Enghsh and the 
Americans, the majority of the students at the 
Ecole were as poor as church mice, and how they 
managed to live was always a mystery to me, yet 
they seemed happy enough. There was one chap 
in particular — he has made a name for himself 
since — ^who only had fifty francs a month. His 
parents were peasants, he told me, and it was only 
by pinching themselves that they were able to send 
him even this modest pittance. Still he managed 
to exist on it somehow, to his great credit, and 
was already doing good work. I remember he 
confided in me that he had contrived to make his 
own colours ; otherwise he could not have afforded 
to buy them at the marchand de couleurs. Of 
course, most of the students were quite young — 
some scarcely more than lads — but there were 
several who were long past the conventional age 
of the etudiant of the Quartier; they had started 

26 




THE TYPES OF STUDENTS VARIED CURIOUSLY. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

too late, as a rule, and would always remain 
novices. 

When work was over, or if, as not infrequently 
happened, after dejeuner, the weather was parti- 
cularly warm, Stott and I would have a stroll, and 
perhaps make our way across the river to the 
Louvre, or else to the Champs Elysees, and watch 
the gay traffic, and discuss what we should do with 
all our wealth if ever we became famous, and rich 
in consequence. Ah ! those dreams of youth ! 

And so the weeks passed, and on Sundays I 
always spent the day like a good boy — en famille. 
Not that there was anything in the nature of an 
irksome duty about it ; very much to the contrary, 
in fact, and I quite looked forward to the week- 
ends at Auteuil, where I usually went, as the old 
people liked to have all the family round them on 
Sundays. There was always a lively gathering — 
endless badinage and laughing, and never a dull 
moment. 

Dejeuner, in particular, was a great affair on 
Sundays, as friends would often drive out from 
Paris and arrive unexpectedly, so one never knew 
beforehand how many would sit down; but the 
house was so large that it did not really matter — 
the more the merrier. 

Monsieur Thomas and I would often arrange 
some harmless practical joke on someone present, 
which was always laughable, because it was quite 
inoffensive, and even the pompous old butler had 

27 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

difficulty at times in keeping his countenance. I 
remember one of these jokes particularly, as it 
ended rather curiously. There was a young fellow, 
a relative of the family, a student at the £cole de 
Droit. He was a particularly timid and retiring 
youth, and so nervous that he would blush and 
simper like a schoolgirl on the slightest provo- 
cation. One Sunday Monsieur Thomas and I got 
up a joke at his expense to see what he would do. 
We managed to procure some dummy cakes made 
of a sort of canvas, and very much like the real 
thing. I recollect they represented brioches with 
chocolate on them, and looked exactly like the 
sort which are sold with cream inside, and I 
arranged to put them in a dish separately. Every- 
body at table was in the secret, and when it came 
to handing round the sweets I persuaded him to 
try one of the dummy cakes. We all of us went 
on talking loudly and looking the other way so 
as not to burst out laughing; then after giving 
him time, as we thought, to find out the joke, we 
turned round to ask how he liked this particular 
kind of eclair. To our amazement we discovered 
he was eating it with gusto, apparently being too 
timid to make any remark. 

Naturally, I felt a bit nervous as to what the 
result might be, but thought it better to say nothing 
in order not to frighten him ; but he had evidently 
got a digestion Hke an ostrich for all the effect it 
had on him. He seemed rather to like it, in fact. 

28 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

I was passing through the salle a manger after 
lunch when I happened to notice something lying 
on the floor under the table. To my surprise, I 
found it was the cake in question ; our timid friend 
was not quite such a fool as we took him for. 

Apart, however, from practical joking, there was 
always such an atmosphere of gaiety, and, if I can 
put it so, of youth, at the house in the Pare des 
Princes that it was almost impossible to pass a 
dull day there. The whole family all took the 
keenest interest in my work, and as soon as I 
arrived on Sunday or Saturday, as the case might 
be, I had to give them a full account of my doings 
during the week. As I was the first Art student 
they had had in their midst, my description of the 
life in the studio and the Quartier came, I imagine, 
as a sort of revelation to them all, to the ladies 
especially — though, of course, I had to somewhat 
veil my stories. They would have been a bit too 
hot for these simple bourgeois, who looked upon 
Paul de Kock and Henri Murger as mere ro- 
mancers. What a splendid audience they made. 
Over lunch or dinner I was always a privileged 
raconteur, and if I happened to hit on something 
particularly interesting, their rapt attention well 
repaid me for having to eat my food cold, as often 
would happen, and then they would all have to 
wait. " Mais laissez le manger," someone would 
exclaim. " He'll finish the story afterwards." 

But there were some very pretty women there 

29 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

sometimes, and, young as I was then, I felt how 
dehghtful it was to be able to interest them even 
a little bit. Occasionally we would make up a 
theatre party on Saturdays and drive into Paris in 
the landau with the two big horses, and when we 
came back it was almost like returning to . the 
country, so quiet was Auteuil in those days. 

Talking of theatres reminds me of a somewhat 
curious incident that happened on one of these 
occasions. We had gone to the Theatre des 
Itahens, which was then one of the most fashion- 
able places in Paris. It has long since been 
pulled down. My friends always did things well — 
besides which, as they were very rich, they could 
afford to ; so they generally had a box, and on this 
particular occasion we had the best loge in the 
house. There were four of us, one lady and three 
men. As there was plenty of room I happened 
to be sitting well in front, and in full view of the 
house. The curtain was not yet up when we 
entered, and we had not been seated many minutes 
before we noticed everyone looking in our direc- 
tion. Glasses were levelled on us from all sides. 
We could see we were being talked about, and 
altogether there was no mistaking it, we had 
attracted attention, for some reason or other which 
we did not know. Still, the interest we had 
excited was evidently not of a disrespectful nature 
— rather the contrary ; of that there was no doubt. 
We began to wonder what was the cause of it all, 

30 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

when a discreet knock came at the door of the box 
and Monsieur Thomas went to see who it was. 
He was outside for a few seconds, and when he 
returned there was an amused smile on his face, 
which we all knew from experience meant he had 
something up his sleeve. 

" Well, what is it ? " we all asked. 

" Keep perfectly calm and don't laugh, because 
we are being looked at," he replied with an assumed 
air of great dignity, " and I will tell you. It 
has got about that Julius is the Prince Imperial 
visiting Paris incognito, and I was asked if such is 
the case. We shall have to be very circumspect 
as there may be a demonstration when we leave." 

I may here mention that I was supposed to bear 
some resemblance at that time to the ill-fated 
Prince. 

" But what did you reply ? " I naturally asked. 

" I told them I was not at liberty to tell who 
you were — which is true, isn't it? you haven't given 
me permission. Anyhow, c'est assez amusant 
n'est ce pas ? " 

" Well, you'll have to be very deferential to me 
all the evening," said I, scenting a good joke, and 
they all agreed to follow it up. So when it was 
the entr'acte, and we went into the foyer, I got the 
two men to walk obsequiously on either side of 
me with their opera hats in their hands, whilst I 
remained covered. In the meantime the rumour 
had got round that I was the Prince, and the 

31 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

people gathered round to such an extent that it 
became quite embarrassing, and I was at last glad 
to return to the box. At the conclusion of the 
performance we found quite a crowd waiting out- 
side, and as I got into the carriage several hats 
were raised in respectful salutation. It was indeed 
an amusing experience. The following day one 
or two of the papers gave out that the Prince 
Imperial had been seen at the Theatre des Italiens 
the previous evening, but that no political impor- 
tance need be attached to his visit to Paris, as he 
desired to remain quite incognito. 

All my souvenirs of those early days at Auteuil 
are delightful. Here is another which is well 
worth recounting, as it was quite as interesting in 
its way. A big fete was given at the Palace of 
Versailles, in honour of some royal personage if I 
remember rightly. Anyhow, it was intended to 
outshine any previous entertainment of its kind 
given since the war. The papers for days before- 
hand were full of descriptions of the wonderful 
decorations and the preparations for the illumina- 
tions of the gardens, for it was intended that on 
this occasion all the ancient glories of Versailles 
under Louis XIV. should be revived. The spec- 
tacle promised to be unique, so it may be imagined 
how eagerly the Invitations were sought after, for 
everybody wanted to be present. To our great 
satisfaction Monsieur Thomas received one of the 
coveted cards. 

32 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Well, the Sunday before the fete we were at 
Auteuil as usual, and after lunch one of the ladies 
mentioned how much she would have liked to be 
able to see the illuminations on the great night 
We all agreed that they would be a sight the like 
of which had never before been seen anywhere, if 
they were carried out as the papers described they 
would be. 

Unfortunately, however, the public were not to 
be allowed to approach anywhere near the Palace, 
so there was no chance of anyone without a card 
of invitation getting through the cordon of police. 
Suddenly someone suggested a way by which a 
few of us at any rate could see the gardens, if the 
scheme was carried out successfully. 

And this is what he proposed: That instead 
of Monsieur Thomas going in the carriage he 
should take the factory van, and we would stow 
ourselves in it somehow, and if we got through 
the lines we should have plenty of opportunity of 
seeing all that was going on. This, of course, 
was only the rough idea ; how he proposed to carry 
it out I will describe. 

Well, Monsieur Thomas, sportsman as he was, 
agreed to risk it ; so it was arranged that the van 
should come early, so as to give us ample time to 
make our preparations. I may here explain that 
the covered-in vans used in France are known as 
" tapissieres." They are very large vehicles, 
solidly built, and with a hood projecting over the 

33 C 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

driver's seat. When they belong to a big private 
firm or a factory they seldom have any name on 
them, and therefore have a certain air of distinc- 
tion. The tapissiere from the Rue de Reuilly 
was quite well-appointed and clean. The impor- 
tance of this having been the case will be seen, 
and the driver Antoine had been with the firm 
since he was a lad, and his father and grandfather 
before him, so he could be fully trusted to carry 
out any instructions without remark. 

The eventful night arrived, and punctually to 
time the van perfectly empty and thoroughly clean 
inside and out. Everything had been well thought 
out and was in readiness. Four of us were to 
accompany Monsieur Thomas. A very pretty girl 
of eighteen a niece of his, Alexandre Thomas, 
another young fellow, and myself. 

As I have explained, the van was a very large 
one, and there was plenty of space. We, there- 
fore, put into it chairs, a fauteuil for the lady, a 
small table and a lamp, which made it look like 
a tiny sitting-room ; but we knew it was likely we 
should be out all night, so it was necessary to 
arrange to be comfortable. Of course, the reason 
for the table had not been overlooked, and 
Madame Thomas had it well stocked with sand- 
wiches, fruit, sweets and wine. We were going 
to make a delightful picnic of the adventure, and 
all were in the gayest spirits. 

At last we were ready to start, and amidst much 

34 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

laughter we all climbed into the vehicle, the door 
of which could be bolted from the inside. Mon- 
sieur Thomas looked positively magnificent in 
. evening dress with his big fur coat, and very much 
out of place in the van, but that was part of the 
plot that he should, as will be seen. Well, off we 
started, and the two powerful horses made light 
of their easy load. It does not take long to cover 
the distance between Auteuil and Versailles as a 
rule, but on this eventful occasion we had no 
sooner got into the main road than we found our- 
selves in the midst of an endless stream of 
carriages of every possible description conveying 
guests to the Palace. We made but slow progress 
as we gradually approached our destination, and 
at last barely moved at a walking pace, so dense 
was the crowd of vehicles ; but we took the delays 
in very good part. The lamp was extinguished, 
and we sat with the door at the back wide open, 
so had a fine view of all that was going on around, 
as, so far, our peculiar carriage had been allowed 
to proceed without hindrance — it might have 
been a van going anywhere in the direction of 
Versailles, and the road was only blocked after 
a certain point, which had been announced by the 
police. At last we knew we were within touch of 
the military cordon round the Palace, so the door 
was closed, and we sat in darkness, though we 
could see all that was going on through the front 
of the van. We could see the carriages ahead 

35 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

of us pulled up whilst the occupants produced 
their tickets of invitation. The regulations were 
very stringent on this point. 

Now the culminating point of our adventure was 
at hand, and it was necessary for Monsieur Thomas 
to enact his part in it. Seating himself in the 
front of the van next to Antoine, he waited events. 
We proceeded at a snail's pace. Suddenly an 
officer rode up and demanded furiously to know 
" what that tapissiere was doing there." Then 
Monsieur, standing up, called out to him. The 
sight of this resplendent personage in evening 
dress and heavy fur coat on the humble van 
had the desired effect. The officer was evidently 
much surprised, and he came up alongside to 
investigate personally. Then Monsieur Thomas 
produced the gorgeous card of invitation to the 
Palace, and explained that his carriage had broken 
down on the road from Paris, and this " brav 
homme," indicating Antoine, who sat as stolid as 
a deaf mute, had kindly offered to give him a lift. 
Of course we could not be seen, as we were sitting 
in the darkness inside. The officer was much 
impressed, and congratulated Monsieur Thomas 
on his luck in arriving at all ; and then turning to 
Antoine, added, " I will give you a pass so that 
you can get through and out again without diffi- 
culty," and handed him an official card. 

This done, we then proceeded, and soon found 
ourselves in the midst of the splendour of the fete 

36 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

It was like driving through fairyland, as our pretty 
companion expressed it, and really the effect was 
very beautiful. On all sides were illuminations, 
and in every possible place — in the trees, along the 
walks, round the fountains — statues everywhere ; 
whilst the strains of music which could be faintly 
heard added to the weird and enchanting effect. 
It was indeed a sight to be remembered, and well 
worth the risk we had taken. We had no difficulty 
in driving right up to the entrance indicated in 
Monsieur Thomas's invitation card. We were 
stopped several times, but the official pass acted 
as an Open Sesame. 

We arranged to go and wait with the van at a 
certain well-known cafe restaurant in Versailles, 
as we rightly anticipated there would be a tremen- 
dous rush for the carriages after the fete was over, 
and possibly much difficulty in meeting in the 
grounds of the Palace. Very slowly we made our 
way out after depositing Monsieur Thomas safely 
at the brilliantly lighted entrance, where was a 
big crowd of elegant ladies and men in every 
description of gorgeous uniform. Someone re- 
marked irreverently that it looked like the com- 
mencement of a fancy-dress ball. 

We reached the cafe and were not sorry to get 
out of the van, as we all felt very cramped after 
sitting in its somewhat narrow confines for so long. 
Still, we had had a wonderful experience, the 
memory of which would long remain. Now, how- 

37 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

ever, commenced the tedium of waiting for the 
return of our friend, and I can still recollect vividly 
how slowly the time dragged on, and how sleepy 
we all got towards the small hours of the morning. 
The cafe we were in offered nothing very attrac- 
tive at that time of night, and as we had already 
supped copiously in the van naught remained but 
to while away the time as best we could playing 
cards and drinking endless coffees. 

At last, as we were all dozing off. Monsieur 
Thomas turned up, and, tired though we were, his 
appearance caused us the greatest merriment. I 
can still see him in my mind's eye. He was, as 
I have said, an exceptionally big man ; so when 
I relate that he had on a hat much too small for 
his massive head, and was wearing an overcoat 
that had been made for a man about half his size, 
it may be imagined what he looked like. We 
positively shrieked with laughter as he walked in, 
but his usual good-humour had for once deserted 
him, and he did not appreciate our mirth, for we 
soon realised that he was in a towering rage. Then 
we learned that the cloak-room arrangements at 
the Palace had completely broken down ; that the 
officials in charge had quite lost their heads ; and 
that in the end there had been a wild scramble for 
coats and hats — and these miserable articles were 
all that he had been able to get in place of his 
" gibus " and his splendid fur-lined coat. No 
wonder he was ari^ry — who would not have been } 

38 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

And then he told us that, to make matters worse, 
one of the men at the vestiaire had been positively 
rude to him, and that when he had insisted that 
this wretched garment and silly hat were not what 
he had deposited on his arrival, he had actually 
repHed " that he was sorry but he could not give 
him a fur-lined coat as he hadn't a single one left ! " 
It was only on talking the subject over some 
days after that the humour in the man's response 
occurred to us. Meanwhile the fur-lined coat and 
opera hat were never found, so it turned out a 
very expensive evening's amusement. This con- 
tretemps naturally spoiled what would otherwise 
have been a most interesting experience. 



39 



CHAPTER IV 

I am passed for the atelier — My entree — The Massier — Paying 
my footing — An impromptu picnic — " Ragging " the 
nouveau — A duel with paint-brushes — The corvee — A 
little unpleasantness — A studio procession in the Quartier — 
Models — The visits of the " Patron " — An amusing inci- 
dent — Sympathy between the artist and his pupils — 
Gerome's kindly nature. 

I HAD been in the antique about three months when 
I was passed for the ateher, and I well recollect 
with what feelings of elation I made my way up- 
stairs. Stott did not get in till afterwards, but he 
looked on himself as a landscape painter, so was 
not particularly concerned about it — as figure 
painting with him would be but an accessary to 
his Art. The three studios of the professors of 
painting at the Ecole were then situated in a 
spacious corridor on the first etage — Cabanel's 
was at the top of the staircase, then came Leh- 
mann's, and lastly Gerome's. 

It was about half-past eight in the morning when 
I somewhat timidly knocked at the big door — 
there was a terrific noise going on inside which 
perhaps accounted for my receiving no reply. I 
knocked again and again ; still no reply, so I 

40 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

turned the handle and boldly entered. From 
what I had been told I expected to see something 
out of the common, but the scene that confronted 
me quite took me aback. It was a very large 
studio lighted by an immense window on one side. 
Facing this was a platform on which a nude female 
model was posing; around the platform forty or 
fifty students, in blouses and every conceivable 
description of fantastic attire, were working in a 
big semi-circle — those nearest the model were 
seated on low stools making drawings, behind them 
were others painting seated at their easels, the 
next row were seated on stools somewhat higher, 
and the outside row was standing. The walls 
were covered with clever caricatures, and over all 
was a thick cloud of tobacco smoke. 

As I entered, a lusty chorus was in full swing, 
and for a few seconds my presence was not noticed 
as I stood irresolute just inside the door; then 
suddenly someone spotted me and yelled out, in 
a voice that drowned the chorus, " Un nouveau." 
In an instant the singing ceased, and then arose 
the most deafening uproar I have ever heard — it 
was as though Bedlam had been let loose. Up 
they all jumped and fairly shrieked at me. For a 
few moments I could not make out what was said, 
but it was evidently not of an unfriendly nature, 
so I smiled and tried to look as pleasant as possible. 
Then someone approached me, and I explained 
that I was a nouveau, and he then with a low 

41 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

mock obeisance begged to have the honour of pre- 
senting me to the Massier — so I followed him to 
where a big fellow with a long beard was seated 
at an easel. All the while the other students were 
crowding round, keeping up a deafening row, and 
making all sorts of remarks, mostly uncomplimen- 
tary, about my general appearance. I was gravely 
requested to give in full my name, age, nationality, 
place of birth, and other details of a more or less 
intimate character, which the Massier proceeded 
with great solemnity to enter in a book which he 
evidently kept for the purpose. This being done, 
he then put to me a question as to my willingness 
to comply with certain formalities in connection 
with my entry to the atelier ; these consisted in the 
" masse " — otherwise in paying my footing, i.e. 
standing treat to the studio. For this I was quite 
prepared, as I had been told beforehand what 
would be expected of me — so I replied that noth- 
ing would give me greater pleasure, at which 
another terrific yell burst forth from the crowd. 

" Sacre Anglais, c'est tres-bien cela," they cried. 
" What would you like to pay for ? " I was then 
asked. 

" Everything that is usual," I replied. 

" Des saucissons, sardines, du fromage, du fruit, 
du pain, and du beurre — du vin, du cassis, des 
cigarettes and des cigars," was decided on ; a rough 
calculation of how much would be required, and 
the two last nouveaux were deputed to go out with 

42 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

me to fetch all this in. So out we went together. 
I felt delighted — it was all so friendly, for I instinc- 
tively felt that this ragging was of the most good- 
natured character, and that it only depended on me 
for the result. Although the Massier had with a 
feeling of the utmost camaraderie suggested the 
amount of the various items to be brought in, they 
all seemed such jolly good fellows that I ventured 
to augment this considerably, and we returned to 
the atelier positively laden with provisions. 

As may be imagined, the yells that greeted our 
return were quite different to those that had greeted 
my arrival. An impromptu picnic, to which the 
model (without troubling to put on any clothes) 
and I were also invited, then followed, after which 
work was about to be resumed, when there were 
cries for " a speech " from the nouveau ; then others 
called out for a song ; then the clamour increased 
till at last those in favour of a song had it — so I was 
told to give them something in English. I've got 
about as much voice as a rusty file, but there was 
no help for it. I had to do the best I could. I 
was about to start when there were cries of " On 
the stove " ; so on the stove I had to climb — for- 
tunately it was not alight — then came " Off with 
your clothes." Without hesitating I laughed and 
made a movement as though to comply, and 
started undoing my braces although the model was 
posing alongside. Then someone exclaimed, " No 
— no — he's far too ugly for that; it's bad enough 

43 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

to have to look upon him with his clothes on/ 
Then someone else repHed, " Yes — quite true — 
let him get along with his rotten song and then we 
can go on with our work." So perforce I gave 
them " Nancy Lee," and oh! the groans and hisses 
it evoked. I should not have been surprised had 
they started throwing things at me. 

Well, they let me finish somehow, and then 
called out " Assez," and " Descendez," and " Tout 
de meme il a bon caracture cet Englisch," and 
other complimentary remarks, after which I was 
left in peace and strolled round and chatted with 
some men I already knew. They congratulated 
me on getting off so easily, as it often happened, 
they told me, that the nouveau had a very rough 
time, especially if he showed signs of losing his 
temper. The great thing was to take all the 
ragging in good part and to try and realise that what 
was happening was what had happened to every- 
one in the atelier when he first joined. I have 
not a particularly easy temper, but I had evidently 
hit it off very well, as I was scarcely ever ragged 
or made fun of after this, and was not long making 
friends all round. 

Every nouveau however, did not get off so easily 
as I did, and very often they had to go through 
some thrilling experiences. I remember on one 
occasion two came to the studio at the same time. 
It was a nasty morning and not much light for 
work, so the crowd was in a mischief-making mood, 

44 




IN A VERY FEW MINUTES THEY WERE BOTH COVERED WITH 
COLOUR AND IN A HIDEOUS MESS." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

which was aggravated by the two nouveaux being 
either too poor or mean to pay a decent bienvenue. 

" They must fight a duel with paint-brushes," 
someone called out. 

This was immediately agreed to, and the fellows, 
in spite of their protests, were made to strip to the 
waist ; then two brushes were tied on to two mahl- 
sticks and dipped into Prussian blue and vermiHon, 
and they were ordered to go for each other, which 
they did willy-nilly. In a very few minutes they 
were both covered with colour, and in a hideous 
mess. Considering the very slight accommoda- 
tion for washing in the studio, it may be imagined 
the state they must have been in when they 
got home. 

There were, however, certain, duties or 
" corvees " of a more or less irksome nature which 
every nouveau had to do, whether he liked it or 
not ; these were to " fag " for the anciens, such as 
fetching cigarettes or tobacco, see there was a 
supply of savonnoir for washing the brushes — and 
even to wash the brushes if asked to do so — and 
to take the towels to the washerwoman and bring 
back the clean ones every week. These corvees 
had to be done till there was a fresh " nouveau " — 
then he in his turn took them on. One might, 
therefore, have to do them for several months. 

It did not take me long to get into the ways of 
the atelier — and in a very short time I felt quite at 
home in my new surroundings. The camaraderie 

45 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

that existed was absolutely delightful, and I can 
only recall one instance of bad feeling or quarrel- 
ling the whole time I was there — and that curiously 
enough concerned me. It happened this way. 
An American student, who for some reason or 
other had always picked me out as the butt for 
any joke or any senseless remark he might think 
of, was working next to me one morning when he 
started his usual tactics, to the great amusement 
of the atelier. I took it good-humouredly as was 
my wont, as it takes a good deal to rouse me, till 
at last he got so personally offensive that I could 
stand it no longer; so putting down my palette I 
turned to him and said very quietly, as I hate a 
scene, " I have had enough of your blasted insinu- 
ations ; come down into the courtyard and we will 
see who is the better man." I was white with 
rage, and he could see it. 

He remained speechless for a second, and then 
said in a strained tone of voice, " I don't understand 
you, Price." 

" Well, you come downstairs and you jolly soon 
will," I replied, looking him straight in the eyes. 

To my surprise then, for he wao a very big fellow, 
he burst into a husky sort of laugh and called out 
to the crowd in French, " Here's Price lost his 
temper because I have chaffed him, and he wants 
me to go out and fight him." 

" Well, you've got to do that or apologise," I 
repHed at the top of my voice. 

46 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

" Well, put it right here," he said, offering me 
his hand, " I meant no offence, old man." 

Of course this ended the incident and we were 
always good friends afterwards. 

When I joined Gerome's there were many 
youngsters painting there who have made big 
names since — as, for instance, Dagnan-Bouveret, 
Buland, Bompard, Helleu, La Gandara, Harrison, 
Swan ; whilst in the other studios were Solomon 
J. Solomon, La Thangue and Stanhope Forbes ; 
but the great majority failed to realise their early 
promise, for one has not heard of them since. A 
talent d'atelier does not necessarily mean success 
later, and many after a short struggle gave up Art 
for commerce. It was a hard-working, enthusiastic 
crowd, full of animal spirits, and there was never a 
dull moment at any time — in fact the most pleasant 
hours of the day were those spent during the 
morning in the studio. Everyone was known by 
some nickname, some of these being very funny 
indeed. I got to be christened Velocipede IV. 
from the fancied resemblance to the late Prince 
Imperial I have already mentioned. 

Practical jokes were of everyday occurrence, and 
were often of a character which displayed well the 
inventive genius of their authors. I remember 
one in particular, which is well worth recounting. 
It was a dark, unpleasant sort of morning, when 
work was scarcely possible ; we had been filling in 
the time with singing, boxing, wrestling, and what- 

47 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

not, whilst hoping it would clear up and get light 
again. Suddenly someone suggested a procession 
through the Quartier ; no sooner said than done — 
the tallest student dressed himself up as a bishop, 
and with a clean white blouse and paper mitre 
he looked quite the real thing. The rest of us 
got ourselves up as choristers — carrying lighted 
candles stuck in long paper rolls — priests, and 
other officials. There was even a church beadle 
in cocked hat. Then we started, down the stairs, 
through the courtyard, then round it, solemnly 
entoning an imitation chant ; then out through the 
big gates into the street, to the immense amuse- 
ment of the passers-by. With slow footsteps we 
went through the Passage des Beaux Arts into the 
Rue de Seine, then back by the Rue Jacob and 
the Rue Bonaparte. It may have been sacri- 
legious, but the Church was never held in much 
respect in the atelier, and certainly it was im- 
mensely funny as a skit. The most curious part 
of it, and what struck me most, I remember, was 
that the guardians of the Ecole, and even the very 
sergents de ville, all smiled and entered into the 
joke ; we were not interfered with in the least, 
although the traffic was held up while we passed. 
There was a fresh model every week — always 
the nude, that goes without saying — male and 
female alternately — and the engaging and selec- 
tion was generally left in the hands of the Massier, 
who was the recognised head of the atelier; but 

48 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

the pose was decided on by the majority of the 
anciens when the model came on the Monday 
morning. The models presented themselves once 
a month or so — although on any Monday morning 
they could show themselves if they were not already 
known to the atelier ; sometimes as many as a dozen 
would be waiting, and so as not to waste time, they 
would undress in the corner and come up in batches 
on tG the platform — old, young, male and female, 
and all completely nude. One got quite accus- 
tomed to it. The scene was very curious, and at 
first put me in mind of a slave market ; afterwards 
one got satiated, as it were, with the nude, and the 
more especially as the women were seldom of ex- 
ceptionally prepossessing appearance. The men 
were mostly Italians, and of course all were profess- 
ional models and well known in the various studios. 
If a girl wanted to become a model, and happened 
to be really pretty and had a good figure, there 
was no necessity for her to sit at the Ecole — she 
could easily get all the work she wanted privately ; 
but of this more anon. 

Work commenced at an unusually early hour 
judging from the English standpoint — seven 
o'clock in the summer and eight in the winter. 
The seance lasted four hours, and there was a rest 
for the model of five minutes exactly in every 
hour. 

There was scarcely ever a moment's silence all 
the time — songs, badinage, and wit without cessa- 

49 P 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

tion, and hard work notwithstanding. There was 
no necessity to go out for anything in the shape of 
paints or materials, as old Chabot of the colour 
shop in the Rue Jacob used to come round of a 
morning with a case of brushes and colours, and 
would bring one in canvases or paper. The 
" Patron's " visits took place on Wednesdays and 
Saturdays, and as soon as he entered he would 
salute us smiHngly with a " Bon jour, mes amis," 
to which we all repHed, " Bonjour, Monsieur " ; 
then there was dead silence whilst he made his 
way round the studio from pupil to pupil — sitting 
down in front of the canvases or drawings, and 
giving friendly and valuable advice. It was all 
so delightfully informal, yet withal so thoroughly 
in keeping with the traditions of the Ecole, that a 
word of encouragement from the great artist put 
one on good terms with oneself for the rest of the 
day, and made one feel life was really worth living. 
After he had done his round of the studio, an easel 
would be placed near the wall, and everyone could 
submit sketches or other work done outside for 
his criticism. This was the most trying ordeal of 
all, as his remarks on these efforts, though always 
good-natured, were not accessarily of a compli- 
mentary nature — and often were received with 
roars of laughter by the crowd of students, at the 
expense of the unlucky recipient. 

I remember one occasion particularly, because I 
happened to be the victim. I had painted, or to 

50 






ii^ 



r 



'Th^'-'l 



\ -' 



f: 




J.M.T 



USED TO COME ROUND OF A MORNING WITH A CASE OF 
BRUSHES AND COLOURS." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

be more correct had attempted to paint a small 
portrait in the open air of my neighbour in the 
Rue de Seine — if I remember rightly he was sup- 
posed to be a Hungarian nobleman — and he was 
so pleased with the result that he had it framed 
regardless of expense, and with his coat of arms 
on the top. I brought it to the studio to show 
Gerome and get his opinion on it, as it was my 
earliest effort of portraiture and I was rather proud 
of my achievement. It was in its gorgeous frame, 
which gave it an unduly pretentious appearance, 
for it was unusual to exhibit one's work in such a 
pompous style ; besides which, the painting itself 
was hardly worth a frame of any description. It 
was duly placed on the easel. After looking at it 
attentively for a few seconds, Gerome remarked 
with a humorous twinkle in his eye, " J'aime assez 
le cadre " (I rather like the frame). That was all. 
The crowd was fairly convulsed with mirth, and I 
took it down from the easel with rather less assur- 
ance than I had placed it there, and feeling very 
small indeed. 

Still it did no harm, this uncompHmentary 
criticism, as it took the conceit out of one a bit, 
and after all there was nothing unkind or unneces- 
sarily cutting about it. 

I always used to think that it must have been in 
similar fashion that the great masters of the Middle 
Ages were en rapport with their pupils, and it was 
doubtless this fraternal cordiality that in no small 

51 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

degree helped to develop the genius of the old 
Italian and Dutch schools. It is the dehghtful 
touch of human nature, the bond of sympathy 
between the great artist and the humblest of his 
pupils, that makes the student life of Paris so 
attractive, and which apparently cannot exist in 
prosaic matter-of-fact England. 

Gerome was far and away the most popular of 
all the professors of painting in Paris in those 
days, and had his atelier been double the size it 
would have still been overcrowded, so keen was 
the desire to be accepted as his eleve. With 
those who were earnest, serious workers he was 
always a sympathetic and encouraging adviser, 
but gare aux flaneurs — for those he had no use. 
Beneath the somewhat gruff and uncompromising 
exterior was a kindly nature that made him be 
regarded with positive affection by his pupils. The 
following touching little story will convey some 
idea of the man as apart from the professor. 

A young fellow had been accepted by him 
as an eleve and was passing the usual period of 
probation in the antique when he showed such 
exceptional talent that Gerome told him to go 
up into the ateher forthwith. Shortly after, the 
maitre was paying his weekly visit to the antique, 
when he found him still working there. 

" I thought I told you to go upstairs and work 
from the life," he said rather sharply — for he liked 
his pupils to do what he told them to do. 

52 




]. L. GKROME. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

" Yes, Monsieur, I know you did, but " 

" Well, and why didn't you? " 

The youth turned colour, looked very confused, 
then after hesitating a moment tears came into his 
eyes and he replied, " To tell you the truth. Mon- 
sieur — I did not expect to get out of the antique 
so soon, and my parents are only poor work-people, 
and they are doing the best they can for me, and 
I don't like to ask them for the money to pay my 
masse yet a while. I should not like to go up 
into the atelier and be different to the others, 
so I thought I would wait a little longer; and I 
hope you will forgive me, sir, for not doing what 
you told me," he added, and the tears were stream- 
ing down his face. 

Gerome was silent for a few seconds, then in 
an altered voice he said kindly, and patting the 
boy on the shoulder, " Mon ami, why did you not 
tell me this } I expect my eleves to confide in me, 
since I am interested in their welfare." Then as 
he turned to go away he asked abruptly, " Where 
are you living ? " 

The boy gave his address, wondering what that 
had to do with it. 

The following day a letter reached him ; it con- 
tained a mandat de poste for one hundred francs, 
and a few lines from the maitre telling him to start 
work at once in the atelier. 

That youth became one of Gerome's most dis- 
tinguished pupils and made a big name for himself. 

53 



CHAPTER V 

Dejeuner in the Quartier — Thirions — Curious incident in the 
Rue du Four — Arlequins k 2 sous — A joke on the 
waiter — Copying at the Louvre — Julians — The atelier in 
the Rue d'Uz^s. 

We generally went to dejeuner as soon as the 
model had gone, for one felt pretty hungry by 
then, after getting up so early. There were lots 
of little restaurants in the neighbourhood which 
would be crowded at this hour. Every coterie had 
its favourite place of reunion — which was usually 
selected for some special reason, but generally 
from motives of economy, for we were not 
fastidious as to the quality of the food. Stott and I 
and several of the American and English students 
used to meet at a place in the Rue St Benoit 
where it was quite good, considering how cheap 
everything was. Then there was Thirions in the 
Boulevard St Germain, a very quaint and old- 
fashioned little place, reputed to have been 
favoured by the presence of no less a personage 
than Thackeray when he was a student at the 
Beaux Arts. It had a certain renown in conse- 
quence, though I don't think the food was any the 
better for it. 

54 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

I remember a curious incident that occurred at 
a small restaurant in the Rue du Four, where we 
used to feed sometimes. It conveys a good idea 
of the rough-and-ready manners of the Quartier. 
We were rather later than usual for lunch one day 
and there were only a few students in the place, 
as dejeuner was practically over by one o'clock. 
We were nearly finished when to our amazement 
the door opened and two men entered carrying a 
large coffin on their shoulders ; with the utmost 
gravity they passed slowly through the room with 
their grim burden and made their way up the stairs 
leading to the " Salon pour Noces " on the first 
floor. The lugubriousness of the unwonted spec- 
tacle would have probably horrified older folk than 
ourselves, but to an etudiant, as to the proverbial 
Sappeur, nothing is sacred. After the first mo- 
ment of stupefaction facetious remarks were heard 
— someone wanted to know if it was a client of 
the house who had died suddenly after dining there, 
to which another replied that it was not that at all, it 
was the cold meat for the assiette a I'Anglaise they 
were bringing from the charcutier's. The manager, 
who evidently felt that some explanation was due 
to the customers, came forward and told us that 
he regretted to inform us that the proprietress had 
died suddenly, and as there was no other entrance 
to the house but that leading through the restau- 
rant, this painful scene could not be avoided. 
Evidently it did not occur to him that to have 

55 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

closed the place for a couple of hours in the after- 
noon would have been the decent thing to do under 
the circumstances. 

Many of the students went much farther afield, 
even to places as far away as the Boulevard d'Enfer 
—very eccentric most of them, though ; there was 
one in particular where the knives and forks and 
spoons were chained to the tables, which was, how- 
ever, only visited when one had got to the end 
of one's month's allowance and had been more 
extravagant than usual. 

There was an old woman at the Marche St 
Germain who used to sell Arlequins a 2 sous. 
These consisted of odds and ends of the debris 
from the restaurants. These were laid out in rows 
of plates, and if you got there early you might be 
fortunate enough to get something tasty, such as 
half a fowl, or a nice piece of beef and carrots, but 
it was all a matter of luck what was on the plates, 
as the ingredients were mixed up anyhow. The 
old lady, though, wouldn't always let you have the 
plate you chose for the two sous. " A non, mon 
petit," I remember she would say, " je ne peux pas 
te ceder 9a pour moins que 3 sous il y a du dindon 
dedans, mais tu auras une bonne croute avec " ; 
and if she was in an extra generous mood you got 
a large piece of bread, which hadn't been kicking 
about too much on the ground, thrown in. You 
then emptied the plate on to a newspaper you had 
brought with you, and ate the contents there and 

56 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

then whilst strolling round the market, finishing 
up with a cigarette and a two sous cup of coffee 
at the marchand de vin close by. One had indeed 
to be young and have a healthy appetite to tackle 
this unsavoury bill of fare. 

It was a curious fact that the early days of the 
month — when one's allowance had just arrived — 
were marked by a cheery optimism with regard to 
expenditure which gradually disappeared as the 
succeeding weeks wore on ; but the spirit of joking 
was ever present, no matter how low one's funds — 
sometimes even at the expense of the waiters. One 
in particular, very silly, but always raising a laugh. 
Someone would ask when near the end of a meal, 
"What cheese have you, waiter?" to which of 
course came the reply enumerating the usual list. 

" Is the camenbert good to-day, waiter ? " 

" Oh oui, Monsieur." 

" Nice and ripe? " 

" Oui, Monsieur, in fine condition." 

" Very well then, give me a piece of gruyere." 

If the gargon did not know us, the look on his 
face may be imagined. 

In the afternoon after dejeuner and till it was 
time to go to the Cours Yvon I used to copy at 
the Louvre. Gerome always recommended this 
as a method of learning technique, so for some 
months I followed his advice assiduously and got 
to look on Rembrandt and Titiens as personal 
friends; but after a time the old masters got on 

57 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

one's nerves, one felt so insignificant alongside 
them, and the atmosphere of the galleries was so 
depressing that I decided that work at a Hfe class 
would be more cheerful. At that time there was 
only one studio where on paying a fee you could 
go and paint when you chose. This was Julians, 
and it had attained considerable celebrity. It was 
divided into two ateliers — one in the Rue Mont- 
martre and the other in the Rue d'Uzes close by. 
In the Rue Montmartre lady students were ad- 
mitted as pupils, and, if they chose, even when 
nude male models were posing; there were no 
prejudices or false modesty. It was all considered 
Art — ^with a big A. I shall never forget my 
impressions on going there for the first time one 
afternoon. The model, a big brawny individual 
in a state of nudity, was taking a rest, seated by 
the stove smoking a cigarette ; around the studio 
were groups of students, male and female — some 
of the latter quite young girls, chatting and laugh- 
ing unconcernedly. To me the scene was a sur- 
prising one, but to them it was only part of the 
day's work evidently. 

In the Rue d'Uzes there were no women stu- 
dents, and the fees were considerably less, perhaps 
for that reason ; so as most of my particular friends 
from the Ecole went there, I joined also. It made 
a very pleasant change from the Louvre, where 
there was an impression of hard work ; it was a 
casual go-as-you-please sort of place, where there 

58 




THE LOUVRE, WHERE THERE WAS AN ATMOSPHERE OF HARD WORK. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

was no Professor, but where you managed to do 
a lot of good studies without undue effort. Men 
would stroll in with their paint-box and a canvas, 
and if they thought the model worth painting they 
would stay — if not, they'd have a chat and smoke 
and go away. It was probably this casual state of 
affairs that induced a number of very clever men 
to come and work at the Rue d'Uzes in the after- 
noon. There was of course no ragging or paying 
one's footing as at the Ecole, but there was the 
same spirit of camaraderie — though perhaps in a 
somewhat modified degree, as the majority of the 
men were considerably older than those at the 
Ecole, and there was therefore a tendency to divide 
up into cliques. Perhaps on account of the 
inartistic character of the neighbourhood — the Rue 
Montmartre is a wholesale business centre — the 
atelier lost a good deal of its Bohemianism — as, 
for instance, if one felt like going out for a cup 
of coffee there was only one place conveniently 
near, and that was the Brasserie Muller on the 
Boulevard Poissoniere, which had a back entrance 
opposite the studio, but it was very bourgeois and 
not in the least like the cafes in the Quartier. 



59 



CHAPTER VI 

The Quartier at night— The Boulevard St Michel— Petites 
ouvriferes — A good joke and its denouement — Practical 
joking in the streets — The woman on the roof — Searching 
for a louis — The caf^s in the Quartier — BuUier — A con- 
juring trick — Joke on the cocher — Fun at the waxwork 
show. 

It must not be inferred, however, that it was all 
work and no play with us, for we managed to put 
in a good time now and then of an evening after 
work, in spite of a strictly limited exchequer — 
though this of course was more likely to happen 
at the beginning of the month, for the reason 
already mentioned. Still it really didn't require 
to have such a very well-lined pocket to find 
amusement in the Quartier at night. First and 
foremost there was the Boulevard St Michel, that 
happy hunting-ground where one was pretty sure, 
if it was fine, to come across some pals from the 
atelier, or perhaps pick up some pretty girl who'd 
come and have coffee with you in one of the many 
places around. The petites ouvrieres in those 
days were neither difficiles or extravangantes — the 
type is a bit altered since, from all accounts. 
There was rather a good joke which often served 

60 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

to while away an evening — it had at any rate the 
merit of originaHty. Supposing, for instance, after 
dinner we were three or four together and nothing 
particular to do, we'd separate at the corner of one 
of the big thoroughfares — the Rue des E coles or 
Boulevard St Germain, for instance — and each one 
take a different direction, and agree to meet later, 
say in an hour's time, at some cafe we knew ; but 
the conditions were that whoever turned up with- 
out a girl had to stand drinks all round; and to 
make it more amusing, it was understood that an 
old acquaintance should not count. It may be 
guessed how funny it often was when we all met, 
as arranged, and how sometimes there were some 
curious developments, as there was generally 
not much difficulty in finding a girl in the Latin 
Quarter. 

These adventures, however, were not always 
unattended with risk, for there were many rough 
characters about, and I believe that it was the 
knowledge of this that made them the more attrac- 
tive. I remember one occasion, however, which 
might easily have had an extremely unpleasant 
ending, so far as I was concerned. Several of us 
had dined together and had separated on one of 
these expeditions. I had chosen the Rue des 
E coles as my hunting-ground, and had not been 
alone many minutes before I saw an exceedingly 
smart young woman get out of the tramway and 
come towards me ; she was as good-looking as she 

6i 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

was well-dressed. " By Jove," I said to myself, 
" if I can only walk into the cafe with that, the 
boys will be a bit astonished." She passed but 
took no more notice of me than if I had been part 
of the pavement. However, I was not so easily 
put off; I determined to follow it up — so right 
along the Rue des E coles we went. At length 
she turned up a quiet side street. " Now is my 
chance," thought I, so dashing after her I caught 
her up and, raising my hat, said very politely, " I 
believe I have the pleasure of knowing you, 
Madame." 

She half turned round and, looking at me 
steadily, said in the coldest of tones, " That then is 
the reason you have been following me all this time, 
Monsieur; please do me the pleasure then to 
accompany me to the corner of the street and I will 
introduce you to my husband who, I see, is waiting 
for me there." 

I felt I had made a mistake indeed, and that 
the best thing to do was to beat a retreat with as 
much dignity as possible, so again raising my hat 
I said in my best French, " I perceive, Madame, 
I am in error — please accept my apologies," and 
with that turned on my heels and walked away. 

After this, as may be imagined, I felt in no 
mood for further adventure that evening, so made 
my way back to the cafe where we had all arranged 
to meet, and gradually my friends turned up, and 
all had found a companion. I explained as the 

62 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

reason for my being alone that I had had no luck, 
which was literally true. 

Now for the denouement, which was almost 
dramatic. There was only one of us who had not 
yet put in an appearance, and we were beginning 
to wonder what had become of him, for it was 
getting late, when the door of the cafe opened and 
in he walked, accompanied by the very girl I had 
followed along the Rue des Ecoles. I shall never 
forget her look of astonishment when she espied 
me seated at the table her newly found friend 
was bringing her to, but she gave no other sign 
of recognition. We were all introduced to the 
various ladies, as was customary on such occasions, 
though of course we never let the little dears know 
that their being with us was the result of a wager — 
and I fancied I detected a satirical smile on her face 
when it came to our turn to be presented to each 
other. I need scarcely add that I kept this adven- 
ture to myself, and I don't think she told our friend 
about it. Curiously enough, they were together 
for quite a long while after that; and I often 
wondered if their meeting that evening had really 
been purely accidental, or if he was the " husband " 
she had the appointment with. 

There was endless joking in the streets at all 
times, day and night, and some of these very 
laughable. As, for instance, one which was known 
as the pas militaire. Four or five of us would 
perhaps be walking along some back street late at 

63 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

night when we'd notice some individual walking 
ahead with a swaggering sort of step, as often 
happens. We'd immediately start whistling a 
march and all get into Indian file, gradually- 
closing up behind him. Of course his first idea 
would be to change his pace, so as not to appear 
to be one of us, but as soon as he did, then we 
altered the time of the march so that he was obliged 
to keep in step with us. If he crossed the street, 
as he probably would, we would do likewise, still 
keeping up the tune; so at last he found himself 
marching, whether he liked it or not, at the head 
of a procession. This would continue till he 
reached the main thoroughfare again, when we 
would leave him with a cheer. Only once I 
recollect a man losing his temper, but when he 
was asked " Que voulez vous, Monsieur — on n'est 
done pas libre de marcher comme Ton veut ? " he 
thought better of it — besides, there were six of us. 
One afternoon I and a friend were standing 
talking at the corner of the Rue du Dragon when 
we were joined by an awfully amusing little chap, 
who was always the life of our party; he stood 
talking to us for a few minutes about nothing in 
particular, without a suggestion of a joke, when 
all of a sudden he called out, " Mon Dieu, look up 
there," pointing to the roof of a house opposite. 
We looked, but there was nothing unusual to be 
seen ; but his gesture and exclamation had been 
noticed by a passer-by and he stopped to look up. 

64 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

This was all he wanted. " Mon DieUj mon Dieu," 
almost shrieked our funny man, working himself 
up into a state of much excitement, " she'll fall 
. off the roof — look there she goes behind those 
chimneys ; something must be done to save her — 
look — she nearly slipped that time — oh! I can't 
stand here and look at it — it's too awful," and so 
on, and began to wring his hands and moan. 

By this time a crowd had begun to collect, and 
everyone was gazing up ; people opened their 
windows and looked out, wondering what all the 
excitement was about. My friend and I stood 
by, keeping our countenances with difficulty; it 
wouldn't have done to give the joke away — besides 
the funny man might have got hurt. Casual 
people in the streets don't like being made fools 
of. In a few minutes the thoroughfare was con- 
gested, and the traffic blocked. I asked someone 
who was standing near in the crowd if he could 
tell me what was the matter ; without hesitation he 
told me that a man who lived on the fourth floor 
of the house was trying to murder his maitresse, 
and that she had escaped from him on to the roof, 
and that the police had just gone to fetch the fire- 
men and a ladder to get her down. 

That was enough; I passed the hint to my 
friends and we discreetly came away. This same 
little chap had quite a gift of getting crowds to 
assemble, and all his ideas were equally funny. 

Here's another joke that he played one evening. 

65 E 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

We were passing through a quiet street leading on 
to the Boulevard, when all of a sudden, just as 
someone came along, he lit a match and com- 
menced searching for something on the pavement ; 
the passer-by stopped casually and in an aimless 
way started looking also, without even asking what 
was lost. Some rough-looking men came along 
and joined in the search ; matches were lit and a 
regular hunt commenced. Someone even pro- 
duced a bit of candle. Everybody was looking 
on the off-chance of finding something, which they 
probably did not intend to give up if they found. 
I can still see the curious effect of all these people 
groping about on the pavement and in the gutter 
with lighted matches. Suddenly it occurred to 
someone to ask our friend what he was looking for. 

" A louis," he said. 

" Are you sure you lost it just here ? " 

" Oh, I haven't lost one here," he replied 
casually. 

" What ! not lost one ; then what are you doing 
with a lighted match ? " 

" I'm looking for one." 

"Well, I'll be d d," said the man, as it 

dawned on him it was a joke. 

We did not as a rule wait to see the effect of the 
jest on the rest of the crowd. The bon bourgeois 
of the Quartier were, however, so accustomed to 
the escapades of the students, that scarcely any 
notice was taken of even the most uproarious wit ; 

66 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

though I must add that there was seldom any real 
harm in it, and if any damage was done they'd 
pay up like gentlemen — as indeed most of the 
. students were. There was a noticeable absence 
of drinking strong liquors; coffee or light beer 
were the extent of one's libations, and I don't 
recollect seeing a drunken etudiant the whole time 
I was in the Quartier — ^whilst as to a drunken 
woman, I never saw one the whole time I was in 
Paris. All the fun and practical joking were the 
outcome of the exuberance of youth only, and the 
police knew it and treated it accordingly. 

As may be imagined, the life in the Quartier 
was very divided up, and according to one's means 
one chose one's cafe de preference, where one 
would meet one's pals of an evening ; the Soufflet, 
La Source, Vachette, and the Pantheon all had 
their own special clientele, but they were too 
expensive and swagger for the average etudiant of 
the Beaux Arts, who used to patronise the little 
cafes round the Rue de Buci and Rue de Seine, 
where, over bocks or mazagrans, heated, though 
good-humoured discussions on Art would take 
place. There was, of course, dancing at Bullier 
on certain nights, but it was a bit too far off to go 
to often — and besides I always used to think it 
was a lot overrated, and the crowd there very 
mixed. The idea of caUing it a " bal d'etudiants *' 
was to my mind somewhat a misnomer, judging 
from the class of youths one saw there as a rule, 

67 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

who had no claim whatever to be called students — 
whilst as to the " girls " who went there alone, 
they were nothing, more or less, than a lot of 
common women. It all resolved itself into a 
question of money — " Combien me donneras-tu7 " 
Chance of any real adventure there was very 
remote, as one soon discovered; still BuUier was 
the only place of its sort on that side of the river, 
so it was always pretty full on Saturday and 
Sunday nights, and there was plenty of music and 
life, and if one went en bande it was often quite 
amusing. I remember a very funny incident 
occurring one night as a lot of us were going 
there. 

We were in high spirits, and larking and fooHng 
as usual when out for a spree. We all got into 
an omnibus to get there quicker. On the way one 
of our number, who rather fancied himself as an 
amateur conjurer, began palming coins and doing 
other feats of legerdemain, to the great astonish- 
ment of the passengers; then suddenly stooping 
down he pretended to pick up a five-franc piece 
from the floor, at the feet of a testy-looking old 
gentleman seated opposite, and showed it to us all 
as though he had been lucky enough to find it. 
Of course we knew the trick, but still we all 
laughed. Not so the old gentleman — he called 
the conductor and said something to him, which 
made him come to our friend and say that all 
property found on the omnibus must be handed 

68 




"it was often quite AMUSIN'G. " 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

over to him, as he had to take it to the office; 
he would therefore ask him to be good enough to 
give him the five-franc piece which he had just 
picked up. The look on our friend's face can be 
imagined, as he was not over-blessed with five- 
franc pieces. In vain did he protest it was only 
a conjuring trick; the conductor was adamant — 
that could be explained by him at the office to the 
Secretary, who could beHeve him or not as he 
chose ; his, the conductor's duty was plain. So 
there was no help for it — and so as not to create 
a scene we all advised our friend to hand it over 
and claim it later on, which he did. It took him 
six months I believe to get it back, less 1.50 
for expenses. He gave up conjuring tricks 
after that. 

But of practical joking there was no end. There 
was one pleasantry of a particularly idiotic nature 
which was always successful. When several of 
us were together at night we would sometimes 
hail a passing cab, and one of us would get in and 
immediately slip out by the opposite door, whilst 
the others would engage the attention of the 
cocher. There would ensue an earnest colloquy 
with the man who was apparently in the cab — 
ending up perhaps with an earnest recommendation 
to take great care of himself, not to eat too much 
tripe, obey his parents, write to us as often as 
possible, and so on, after which we would 
absolutely insist on paying his fare for him — the 

69 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

very least we could do for such an old friend. 
Then with strong exhortations to the driver to go 
slowly and carefully, as his fare was very delicate, 
off would go the cab to some destination one 
thought of at the moment — generally a distant 
railway station, so as not to run the risk of meeting 
the cocher again. The idea of the effect on the 
driver when he discovered his passenger was 
missing was in itself sufficient to compensate us 
for the slight outlay the joke necessitated. 

On one occasion four of us went to visit a big 
waxwork exhibition which had just been opened 
on the Boulevard. It was a most artistically 
arranged place — the disposition of the figures 
being particularly life-like. In one of the galleries 
on a slightly raised platform with a red rope en- 
circling it was a group representing some famous 
musicians standing round a grand piano at which 
Liszt was seated playing one of his compositions. 
It was very realistic and all the poses most natural 
— it had evidently been done by a very talented 
artist. Close by the piano was a chair from which 
one of the figures was supposed to have arisen to 
lean over the piano. Our funny man immediately 
saw his chance of a joke. With a glance round 
to make sure no one was looking, he slipped under 
the rope and seated himself in the vacant chair, in 
a pose which harmonised capitally with the mise 
en scene. Although we were always prepared for 
anything humorous he might do, this audacity 

70 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

fairly took us aback for a moment, and we had 
hastily to move aside so as not to be convulsed 
with laughter and give the joke away. Fortu- 
nately no one was near at the moment, not even 
an attendant. Our friend sat as rigid as a lay 
figure, hat in hand, head slightly bowed down 
in an attitude of deep respect, as became a person 
listening to a maestro playing one of his own chefs- 
d'oeures. He happened to be dressed in a black 
suit of artistic cut, so somehow did not appear out 
of place in his surroundings. Presently a party 
of men and women came along and stood admiring 
the group — the ladies were particularly impressed 
at its realism — our friend coming in for especial 
praise, and receiving a lot of complimentary 
remarks — for I forgot to mention he was an ex- 
ceptionally good-looking young fellow. At last 
one of the ladies said she never could have believed 
it was possible to copy anything so accurately in 
wax — it was positively Hfe itself. 

" I wonder what it feels like," she said, and 
slipping forward she furtively touched our friend's 
hand. This was too much for his equanimity, and 
he burst out into a loud laugh. The woman gave 
a shriek of fright, and she and her companions 
drew back so hurriedly that they knocked over 
a settee behind them — ^whilst our friend quickly 
descended from the platform. In a few seconds, 
however, with the delightful good-humour of the 
French nation, as soon as they realised the joke 

71 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

they all joined so heartily in our laughter that an 
attendant came along to ascertain what all the 
hilarity was about; it had not struck him before 
that there was anything particularly humorous in 
the group of great composers. 



72 



CHAPTER VII 

My first love affair — Rose — Excursion to Meudon — Robinson^ — 
Fontenay aux Roses — A fniture at Suresnes — La Gren- 
ouiill^e — Amusing incident in a restaurant — Practical 
joke in a studio — I leave for London — Farewell dinner 
with Rose — A last letter — End of my first love affair. 

It was about this time that there came to pass 
something which had a considerable influence on 
my life for the next few months, and as a faithful 
chronicler of those Bohemian days I must confess 
that what I am about to narrate was my first love 
affair. Up till then the Httle "aventures" I had 
had in common with all other students were not 
sufficiently serious to be worthy of being recorded. 
This one, however, was of quite a different char- 
acter, as will be seen. 

It came about this wise. Stott and I had broken 
out in a new place ; in other words we had wan- 
dered afield and had struck a new restaurant for 
dinner, near the Boulevard St Michel, which was 
a bit away from our usual quarter. 

I was feeding there one evening when a very 
good-looking girl came in by herself. This in 
itself had rien d'extraordinaire ; but she appealed 

73 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

to me at once, for she seemed quite a cut above 
the usual run of girls who came to cafes and 
restaurants unaccompanied, and I remember the 
thought struck me what a pity it was that she 
should have to go to a restaurant like this alone. 
But she seemed perfectly self-possessed, and evi- 
dently was an old habituee of the place, as the 
patron and waiters knew her. She took the only 
seat vacant, which, fortunately for me, was at the 
table adjoining mine. 

In the crowded restaurants of the Quartier, where 
everyone at meal times was seated in such close 
proximity that one could scarcely move, there 
was no difficulty in getting on speaking terms 
with your neighbours ; so a lady coming in alone 
could not object to being spoken to casually — cela 
n'engageait a rien. An opportunity soon presented 
itself for me to make a few remarks, and before 
she had got on far with her dinner we were chat- 
ting away as though we had known each other 
some time. I was not long in discovering that 
she really was very different to what one would 
have expected to meet in so simple a place, as she 
was a premiere in a magasin de modes in the Rue 
des Ecoles, which accounted for her chic appear- 
ance ; and then as we got more and more friendly 
in the free-and-easy manner of the Quartier, she 
confided to me that the reason she came there by 
herself to dine was because she felt very lonely 
and unhappy, as a great friend of hers had gone 

74 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

to South America and wasn't coming back again. 
Then, of course, I told her that I also felt very 
lonely, and that I only wished I could be lucky 
enough to have an amie as pretty and nice as she 
was, and nothing would induce me to leave her to 
go to South America. 

It will be seen from this that we were getting on 
rapidly — and the amusing part of it was that it all 
developed in the most matter-of-fact, casual sort 
of way; but in these adventures the unexpected 
is indeed always the most delightful. When she 
left we had arranged to meet again the following 
evening, and this chance meeting gradually led to 
our seeing each other frequently — then from fre- 
quently to every evening, and — till at last, as may 
have been expected, the inevitable happened, and 
one day Rose and I were more than ordinary 
amis. 

The weather was particularly delightful in the 
May of that year, and I felt sorely tempted to 
leave the studio and take my paint-box and get 
away from the stuffy Quartier to the sylvan 
retreats of Meudon or Robinson. Amongst the 
many fascinations of student life in Paris these 
impromptu excursions are the most delightful; 
they have been described by poets and novelists 
from time immemorial — but you've got to be young 
and have a pretty girl hanging on your arm, as 
well as a keen sense of the romantic, to thoroughly 
enjoy them. Then you don't notice the toughness 

75 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

of the bifteck, the sourness of the vin ordinaire, 
or the coarseness of the tablecloth — all is Elysium 
when she says it is the loveliest time she has ever 
spent in her life, and you are the only boy she has 
ever really loved (and one believes it) ; then the 
food is excellent, and the wine nectar, and the 
linen is the finest damask, and, well, it's the old, 
old story over and over again. So Rose got a 
day off and we went one lovely hot morning to 
Robinson, and spent the happiest day imaginable, 
and I made a sketch of her in the woods, and we 
rode on donkeys and dejeuned and dined and 
spooned in the quaint little arbours built up in the 
trees ; and we got back to Paris late in the even- 
ing, tired out but feeling, so we told each other, 
that we had had the time of our lives — and I was 
more in love with her than ever. Those were 
indeed days to be remembered. 

On other occasions we explored Fontenay aux 
Roses, or Meudon — sometimes also Suresnes, 
where we knew a place where we could get a good 
friture avec un excellent petit piccolo. Then 
sometimes on Sunday, when I could find an excuse 
to get out of spending the day en famille, we would 
go to Bougival, where there was mixed bathing 
in a place called La Grenouillere, and screaming 
fun to watch. It was all very delightful. 

Many of these little country " restaurants " were 
of a very primitive character — which added not a 
little to their charm in our eyes. I remember one 

76 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

in particular which we had taken quite a liking to, 
as the patron and his wife always went out of their 
way to give us a hearty welcome, and what was 
more to the point, generally something extra 
special for lunch or dinner, as the case might be. 
This led to a somewhat amusing little incident 
on one occasion. We were lunching there and 
as a hors-d'oeuvre there was a dish of fine shrimps 
of the variety known as crevettes roses de Dieppe. 
We were busily engaged peeling and eating them 
when the patronne came along and was chatting 
with us, as was her wont, when she made the 
remark in her motherly way that we didn't under- 
stand taking the shells off the shrimps. "I will 
show you how we do it where I come from," she 
added, and suiting the action to her words, she 
picked up one and deftly removed the shell by 
some peculiar twist of her finger-nails. It was 
certainly very smartly done and seemed very 
simple, but try as we would we couldn't accomplish 
it ourselves ; so she good-naturedly offered to do 
the rest for us. In vain we protested, for her hands 
and nails were begrimed with housework. Of 
course she didn't understand the reason for our 
scruples. I still remember the look on Rose's 
face, but not liking to offend her, as she was doing 
it out of pure kindness, we had to accept her 
proffered assistance, and we ate the lot. I never 
see shrimps even now without thinking of the 
incident, 

17 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

During the whole time Rose and I were cama- 
rades I don't think we had a wry word — of course 
the fact of her being employed during the day was 
a great factor, as I had noticed that nearly all the 
tiffs between the etudiants and their amies arose 
from their seeing too much of each other. Rose 
was always known amongst my student friends as 
I'amie de Price, and wherever I went she of course 
accompanied me ; and this reminds me of a funny 
joke we once had at her expense, and into the 
spirit of which she entered as heartily as all of us. 
We were invited to lunch one Sunday at a friend's 
studio — for his fete or something. There were 
six of us, three men and three demoiselles. It 
was, of course, very Bohemian, and we all helped 
to get in and to prepare the lunch. Rose was as 
busy as any of them, as she was a real little house- 
wife and loved it. When all was ready and we 
were about to sit down to table I went into the 
cabinet de toilette to wash my hands, when I 
noticed she had left her rings on the washstand. 
An idea immediately struck me, and calling for 
my friend, our host, I asked him to make some 
excuse to get Rose to leave the table for a moment 
and go into the kitchen ; then I quickly went to 
where she had been sitting, and taking out some 
of the crumbs of the piece of bread by her plate 
I put the rings inside and replaced the crumbs, 
so that the bread did not look as if it had been 
touched. Well, we were all seated and about to 

78 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

commence when suddenly she jumped up, looking 
as white as a ghost, exclaiming, " Hon Dieu, I've 
lost my rings." 

We all asked where she could have left them ; 
it couldn't be in the studio. However, we all pre- 
tended to look for them— in the kitchen, the bed- 
room, everywhere. There was no help for it, we 
said, but to go on with lunch and trust to her 
having left them at home ; but she was not to be 
reassured so easily, and for some minutes I thought 
she would burst out crying, in which case I should 
have had to tell her of the trick. However, she 
gradually calmed down and we proceeded with 
the hors-d'oeuvre — while we all waited to see what 
would happen. At last she took up the piece of 
bread and broke it in halves. The cry of astonish- 
ment and the look of childish amazement on her 
face when she saw her rings buried in the crumbs 
was the funniest thing I think I've ever seen. I 
don't remember a more successful practical joke, 
nor one more appreciated. The studio fairly 
echoed with the shrieks of laughter that followed, 
whilst she came round to me and put her arm 
round my neck and kissed me, whilst she whis- 
pered " Mechant blagueur vas." 

And so that summer gradually passed by, and 
in the atelier they began to talk about leaving 
Paris for the vacances, and of la peinture en plein 
air, and there was a restless roving spirit over us 
all, for the weather was perfect, and it almost 

79 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

seemed a sin to coop oneself up in the atelier when 
one might be out in the open, painting from nature. 
Stott and I had sketched all there was to sketch 
round Bas Meudon and the neighbourhood, and 
began to talk about Brittany and the sea, when 
I received a letter from my guardian which necessi- 
tated my going over to London at once. There 
was no help for it ; someone had forged a cheque 
on our little estate. The thief had been caught 
and I must go over and give evidence. It would 
mean being away some little time. Rose was very 
upset at the idea of my leaving, as we had never 
been apart for six months now, and had looked 
forward to our spending part of the vacances 
together — but she was too intelligent to show any 
annoyance. 

" Puis qu'il faut que tu y ailles il n'y a rien a 
dire," she said in a broken voice. 

The night before I left we had a little farewell 
dinner all alone, with a bottle of vin superieur, 
and I felt a lump in my throat the whole time, I 
remember; perhaps it was an intuitive feeling 
that this was to be our last meal together. But 
I did my best to be cheerful, and talked about 
all we would do when I came back; and the 
tears ran down her cheeks, and then I broke 
down also — so it was not a very lively 
repast. 

I went away early next morning, and Rose came 
to the station to see me off. I was away longer 

80 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

than I expected to be. We corresponded regu- 
larly for some time, and she told me all she was 
doing and how much she missed me; and then 
there was a stop. No letter for more than a week. 
I did not know what to think — so at last I sent a 
telegram — " Why no letter, very anxious." Then 
at last came news — " Ecrivant aujourd'hui," so I 
had to bear my soul in patience till her letter 
arrived. I rushed to my room to read it quietly. 
To my astonishment it informed me that some- 
thing tres imprevue had happened : her old friend 
who had left her to go to South America had 
written from the Argentine to ask her to come out 
and marry him — that he had a lovely home to offer 
her, and had enclosed a banker's draft to pay her 
trousseau and expenses out, and that he expected 
a cable from her to say when she would start. 
" What could she do but accept ? " she asked me. 
She had been thinking it over and had come to 
the conclusion, and her mother agreed with her, 
that it was the best thing that could happen to her, 
since she knew I did not want to get married ; so 
she was leaving that day by the paquebot from 
Bordeaux for Buenos Ayres. " Tu reviendras a 
Paris," she ended her letter, " et tu te remettras a 
travailler ferme et tu penseras peut-etre quelque- 
fois a ta petite amie Rose qui t'a bien aime. 
Adieu." 

She gave no address to which I could 
write. 

Si F 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

So that was the end of my first love story, and 
curiously enough also of the only liaison I had the 
whole time I hved in Paris. I had many petites 
amours after that, but I never came across another 
girl like Rose. 



83 



CHAPTER VIII 

I return to Paris — Looking for new quarters — The Rue 
de la Rochefoucauld — Buying- furniture— The Baronne 
d'Ange — First night in my new room — Curious incident — 
The restaurant in the Rue Vivienne — Eugdnie — A ren- 
dezvous — A disappointment — My first sale of a picture — 
The petit rentier — I am commissioned to paint a portrait 
— A worrying sitter. 

Paris seemed very cheerless and I felt very lonely 
on my return. I had decided to give up my room 
in the Rue de Seine ; so put up for a day or two 
at the Hotel d'Isly in the Rue Jacob. But the 
Quartier had no longer an attraction for me, for 
do what I would the recollection of Rose and the 
dehghtful times we had spent there kept haunting 
me; so I decided to find a room up Montmartre 
way, where several friends had studios. 

After the usual worrying search, this time 
without the assistance of my friend, Monsieur 
Thomas, I settled on a small, unfurnished chambre 
de garqon and cabinet de toilette in the Rue de la 
Rochefoucauld. It was a bit far from the Ecole, 
but the walk of a morning would do me no harm, 
and it was not far from Julians when I left off of 
an afternoon, as I had decided not to continue the 

83 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Cours Yvon. The rent was only three hundred 
francs a year, and five francs a month for the 
concierge to do my menage, so it could not be 
considered excessive ; but I had to buy furniture, 
and that was a bit of a drawback. Still, I felt that 
sooner or later I should have to do this, as it was 
too extravagant living in a maison meublee, so I 
started buying the bare necessaries of a bachelor's 
room — a bed, table, two chairs, une armoire h. 
glace, and a washstand. I could not well do with 
less. Then there were the unavoidable little 
extras — a bit of carpet, la vaisselle, curtains, 
sheets, towels, and an ornament or two ; so by the 
time I had bought all these I had expended 
the modest sum my guardian had advanced me 
towards my putting myself dans mes meubles, and 
I recollect that it was with a certain amount of 
excusable pride that I arranged my little home, 
for it was the first time I had had anything in the 
shape of furniture of my own — so me voila etabli. 
My humble apartment was on the third floor of 
an old house at the angle of the Rue de la Roche- 
foucauld and the Rue Pigalle, which I believe had 
formerly been the residence of Victor Hugo ; when 
I went to live there it was chiefly famous as the 
residence of the Baronne d'Ange, a well-known 
cocotte of that time, who kept an establishment 
in the Rue St Georges. She occupied a spacious 
pavilion at the back of my house, and it was from 
here she used to drive to the Bois during the 

84 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

season in a showy caleche, with a pair of horses 
respendent with silver trappings- — and with a 
black groom seated alongside her. This gave 
No. 66 a certain cachet in the neighbourhood. 
The house was particularly well kept, and, being 
an old mansion, was quite out of the common — 
so it was rather fortunate to get a room there. 

I remember, though, I had rather a shock the 
first night I slept there. It came about like this. 
My room with three others was on the landing at 
the top of the house. There was nothing what- 
ever to indicate any communication between the 
rooms — otherwise I should not have taken it, as 
I have a horror of communicating doors such as 
one finds in all hotels on the Continent. To me 
there is nothing more unpleasant than the absence 
of privacy such doors convey, however much they 
may be hidden by furniture or curtains. My room 
appeared to have just ordinary walls, so I was 
satisfied. I went to bed with a feeling of satisfac- 
tion of being in my own sheets, and had fallen 
asleep when I was awakened by the curious feeling 
of someone being in my room. I sat up in bed 
and listened, when, to my intense annoyance and 
disgust, I discovered that the wall alongside my 
bed was not solid, although it had every appear- 
ance of being so, but was a door covered skilfully 
with canvas and paper. My neighbour's bed was 
only separated from mine by the very thinnest of 
partitions. 

85 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

The voices which had woke me up proceeded 
from his room, and he was not alone — a female 
voice betrayed the fact; that they were not a 
married couple was also evident from their con- 
versation. At first it was somewhat interesting 
and amusing to listen to the exchange of confi- 
dences which followed on what had evidently been 
but a rencontre du hasard, and the subsequent 
ebats d'amour, but when this continued till the 
small hours of the morning, to the detriment of 
my night's rest, I began to feel seriously upset — 
not merely because I had to get up early, but by 
reason of knowing that unless I could contrive 
something to stop it there would be no privacy 
for me either at any time. 

The question was, what to do for the moment. 
To knock at the wall and call out " Assez " would 
never do. I should have only been inviting un- 
pleasantness — as he was chez lui, and therefore at 
liberty to do as he pleased ; so I decided to grin 
and bear it, and think out a solution the follow- 
ing day. 

" C'est un peu desagreable j'en conviens mais 
Ton finit par s y habituer," said the concierge with 
a grin when I complained about it next day ; how- 
ever, she sent her husband up to see what could 
be done, and we found that by shifting my bed 
and putting the wardrobe in its place the sound 
was deadened to a certain extent, but all the time 
I lived there I had an unpleasant feehng that my 

86 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

neighbour knew as much of my petites fredaines 
as I did of his. 

My visit to England had but increased my 
enthusiasm for my work and my hfe in Paris. The 
very air of France seemed to have an effect akin 
to champagne on my temperament — an impression 
the years have never effaced. I returned, there- 
fore, to my studies with a renewed energy, and 
every morning saw me marching down the Rue 
Notre Dame de Lorette at half-past seven, for it 
now being in the autumn, the atelier started an 
hour later than in the summer ; and after dejeuner 
I would go on to Julians and paint there all the 
afternoon. And mentioning dejeuner recalls to 
mind a little incident that was rather amusing in 
its way. 

There was a little restaurant close to the Palais 
Royal in the Rue Vivienne on the way to Julians 
— which someone had discovered, and where 
several of us used to go to lunch of a day. It was 
of course an inexpensive place, otherwise we 
shouldn't have gone there, cela va sans dire ; still 
it had some sort of outward pretension. I remem- 
ber they used to have all sorts of quaint things 
hanging at the door occasionally, such as a 
chamois, a deer, or mayhap a wild boar, such 
delicacies as one would expect to find in a first- 
class restaurant. This outside sort of larder gave 
a certain cachet to the place which had attracted 
us, although one soon found out that these 

87 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

delicacies were never on the menu; they were 
probably only hired, and placed outside to attract 
customers. 

Another attraction, however, that really existed, 
as we were not long in discovering, was an 
extremely pretty waitress. I can still picture her 
in my mind. She was dressed in a dainty sort 
of costume, with cap not unlike that of a London 
waitress, but worn with that chic which is the 
attribute of the Parisienne. She had light-coloured 
wavy hair, blue eyes, and lovely teeth, which 
she never missed an opportunity of showing; 
altogether, in the opinion of our crowd, she was 
" simply stunning," and her name was Eugenie. 
That we annexed her table permanently for lunch 
soon followed, as was only to be expected. 

We were always a very merry party, all young 
artists, and probably a contrast in her mind 
to the usual of the restaurant — which mainly 
consisted of shop assistants from the neighbcur- 
hood. Well, it was not long before a sort of tacit 
and friendly rivalry sprung up between us. Each 
of us laid himself out, as it were, to outshine the 
other — the result being that the lunches developed 
into a constant interchange of wit and repartee, 
and all for the benefit of Eugenie (Nini, for short), 
who was evidently much amused thereat. Of 
course it goes without saying that there was but 
one idea underlying all this competition, and 
that was to get Nini as one's chere amie. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

For some little while the honours were equally 
divided, and not one of us had succeeded in making 
a rendezvous with her outside. Well, one day I 
turned up for lunch very much later than usual, 
and the restaurant was almost empty — all my 
friends had been and gone. I had Nini all to 
myself, and you may be sure I did not lose my 
chance, and by the time I had finished she had 
promised to meet me that evening after her work 
was over. I remember how elated I felt all that 
afternoon, though I took care not to let any of 
the fellows know of my good-fortune. I intended 
to let them see me walk in with her in nonchalant 
manner to the cafe where we usually met of an 
evening, and to nod to them en passant, as though 
it was quite a usual occurrence our being out 
together. 

I was at the rendezvous punctually, as may be 
imagined. It was at a corner of the Place de la 
Bourse, a very quiet neighbourhood at night. 
There was only one person in sight when I arrived, 
a very ordinary-looking female dressed in the 
nondescript garb of the French ouvriere — neither 
smart nor shabby, but just one of hundreds one 
passes in the street without noticing, though her 
hat might have attracted attention, for it was 
simply ludicrous. On seeing me, she gave a little 
run in my direction, exclaiming joyfully, " Oh que 
je suis contente de vous voir arriver — je pensais 
etre en retard." 

89 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

I was dumbfounded. This could not be our 
Eugenie — the delightful little person we had all 
been raving about for days past— this graceless, 
ill-dressed wench. I could hardly beheve my 
eyes; and she evidently noticed my surprise, for 
she remarked with a giggle which still further 
jarred on my nerves, " Vous ne me reconnaissez 
plus dans mon costume de travail." 

I made some sort of lame protest, whilst rapidly 
cogitating as to the best way to get away from her, 
as I felt it was quite out of the question being seen 
with such a scarecrow. I would not dare to take 
her to even the smallest cafe in case I met someone 
I knew— I should be chaffed out of my life if I did. 
Necessity is the mother of invention. 

An idea occurred to me, and without a moment's 
hesitation I said, "Something imprevue has 
occurred since I saw you at dejeuner; one of 
our friends, suddenly taken ill, wants to see me 
urgently, so I must go off at once. I should have 
let you know by telegram, but thought it better 
to wait and see you and explain personally. You 
really must forgive me if I run off immediately, 
as I'm already late. We must arrange for another 
evening, if you will, Nini," I added with hypo- 
critical earnestness. 

She was naturally disappointed, but there was 
nothing to be said under the circumstance. 

"C'est tres malheureux," was her remark, 
" mais ce sera pour un autre soir." 

90 




Ills APPEARANCE OF INTENSE RESPECTABILITV. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

I was so delighted at the success of my ruse 
that I actually snatched a kiss before hurrying off. 
I never went to lunch in the Rue Vivienne again ; 
as I explained to my friends, it doesn't do to stick 
to the same place too long — one wants to vary 
one's cuisine. They may have thought a lot, but 
they said nothing. 

It was about this time that I first sold a picture 
— not for a very big sum, but still it was a sale — 
and it came about in a very curious and unexpected 
fashion. There was a middle-aged, prosperous- 
looking man who used to come and work occa- 
sionally at Julians as a sort of amateur student; 
we nicknamed him the " petit rentier " — as in fact 
he was. He and I somehow, in spite of the 
difference of our ages, became very pally, and he 
eventually joined our little group. He was not 
an excessively amusing chap, but his appearance 
of intense respectability gave tone henceforth to 
our table at the cafe. One day he turned up at 
my room to look at an ambitious little painting I 
was just completing. I forget the subject now, 
but I remember that to my surprise he said, " I 
like it very much, and if you will paint me in it I 
will give you two hundred francs for it when it's 
finished." 

I didn't require much persuasion to accept his 
magnificent offer — so he came and sat for me and 
the work was completed, and to my great satis- 
faction I pocketed two crisp hundred-franc notes, 

91 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

and he took away the canvas under his arm, 
genuinely pleased with the bargain, I believe. 
Well, he turned out quite an Art patron for me 
after this deal with him — for one day shortly after 
he came to me with an offer from a friend of his, 
a business man, who wanted his wife's portrait 
painted, and would give me five hundred francs 
for it if I cared to undertake it. Again no hesi- 
tation on my part ; so it was arranged that I should 
do the painting at their appartement in the Rue 
Bergere. I well remember this, my first serious 
attempt at portraiture. The lady was a stout 
Jewess — of not unprepossessing appearance, but 
extremely vain — and it was only with the greatest 
difficulty that I dissuaded her from wearing all her 
lace and family jewels ; not that I thought they 
were unbecoming, but because I felt that I had 
bargained to paint her portrait only, not her 
domestic wealth as well. So she eventually fell 
in with my suggestion, and consented to being 
depicted as I wished. 

Oh! the bother and annoyance before I com- 
pleted that portrait. Perhaps it was because I 
was only a youngster that she thought my time 
was of no account, for she would make appoint- 
ments and put them off at a moment's notice, or 
not feel equal to sitting when I got to the house, 
and all manner of excuses ; till at last I felt that 
if ever I finished the portrait I should have really 
well earned the five hundred francs. However, 

92 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

it was at length finished and her husband and the 
family seemed to like it — at any rate, I was paid ; 
that was all that concerned me. I did not want 
any more commissions for portraits for a time after 
that first experience ; it was a positive relief to feel 
myself free once more — as I had been af her beck 
and call for weeks. 



93 



CHAPTER IX 

I am introduced at the Cafd de la Rochefoucauld — The 
habitues of the caf^ — Distinguished men one met there — 
A Whistler anecdiote — Petites dames — Models — La Sagatore 
— La Belle Laure and her tragic ending — English girls at 
the caf6, and a joke on one of them — A favourite with 
the ladies — A witty remark — Stray clients at the caii — 
The end of the Cai6 de la Rochefoucauld — Bohemianism 
and some curious predicaments — Humorous situation. 

Living in Montmartre meant, as I soon realised, 
an almost complete changement d'habitudes — 
especially after returning from work. Most of 
my friends lived some distance off, so it was a 
trifle lonely at first at the Rue de la Rochefoucauld, 
as may be imagined. 

Stott had decided to remain in his beloved 
Quartier when in Paris, as he was away a good deal 
painting in Brittany and elsewhere, the open air 
having more charm for him than the atelier. I 
was sorry to see less of him, for from the very first 
day we met we had been very much en sympathie, 
and had become the greatest of chums. Moreover, 
I was a great admirer of his work. Still there was 
no help for it, as I could not persuade him to 
migrate with me. 

94 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

The evenings especially were very dull, for the 
first week or so after I had moved in — as I knew 
nothing whatever of my new quarter. 

One day, however, I walked back with an Eng- 
lish chap who was also painting at JuUans, and 
he asked me what became of me after leaving the 
atelier, that he never saw me. I told him how 
slow I found it, as I had not yet discovered the 
artists' haunts of the neighbourhood. 

" You don't mean to say you don't know the 
Cafe de la Rochefoucauld ? " he asked. 

I had to admit I didn't, so he took me there to 
dinner that evening, and I found myself at once 
in the midst of the most interesting coterie of Mont- 
martre. Although quite a cheap place, dejeuner 
two francs, diner 2.50 vin compris, the Cafe de la 
Rochefoucauld was quite unique of its kind. It 
was a tiny little place where one would not have 
thought of going to au hasard — one might have 
passed it every day without noticing it ; neither out- 
wardly nor inwardly was it of any pretension. Its 
habitues made of it what it was, the cheeriest and 
most interesting rendezvous of the neighbourhood. 

But the Rochefoucauld was not a cafe in the 
ordinary sense of the word, as there were hundreds 
in Montmartre. It was an exclusive little artistic 
rendezvous frequented by some of the most dis- 
tinguished and talented men in Paris at that time, 
and where one had to be introduced before one 
could become an habitue. One constantly met 

95 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

men there whose names are still famous, as for 
instance — Albert Wolff the brilliant and witty Art 
critic, Gerome, in whose atelier I was, Gervex, 
Chartran, Carrier-Belleuse, Humbert, Cormon, 
Dupray, Degas, and last but not least. Whistler, 
whenever he was in Paris. The author of the 
" Gentle art of making enemies " was as famous 
in Paris as a bel esprit as he was as an artist, and 
I remember a story they used to tell which struck 
me as a rare specimen of his humour. One even- 
ing he was dining at a friend's house and the dinner 
was a very lively affair. During the evening the 
artist remembered he wanted to write a telegram 
or something — so was shown into a room on the 
floor above. Shortly afterwards a sound as of 
something falling down the stairs was heard ; 
everyone rushed out to see what it was, and found 
the little man just picking himself up and looking 
very perturbed. 

" Are you hurt ? " they all exclaimed. 

" Who was the architect of this house ? " was the 
extraordinary reply they got. 

Some name was given — I forget who. 

" Damned teetotaller," Whistler ejaculated with 
a hiccup. 

Old Goupil, the big picture-dealer of the Rue 
Chaptal, Gerome's father-in-law, also used to come 
there ; he was the richest man of the crowd — yet 
was so mean that he never tipped the waiter more 
than a sou, and it was said would take home with 

96 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

him the sugar of his coffee. Then I must not 
forget Richard Tripp, the expert on the Barbizon 
School — " Timide/' as he was nicknamed — ^why 
I don't know, except perhaps because he was the 
very reverse — one of the most popular men in 
Paris, who was the life of the cafe and without 
whom no escapade or festivity was complete ; 
Walter Dowdeswell, who would drop in occasion- 
ally when over from London ; and a cousin of mine, 
Charlie Jephson, who was on the Bourse. These 
are only a few of the names of men I can recollect 
for the moment, but they will suffice to convey 
some idea of the varied clientele of the Cafe de 
la Rochefoucauld in those days. As may be 
imagined, I found it a great contrast to the 
students' haunts I had become accustomed to in 
the Quartier. 

The ebullition of youth was still en evidence, 
as many young men were to be seen there ; but it 
was somewhat sobered by the presence of those of 
more mature years — still there was a good deal of 
practical joking, but it was of a rather wittier de- 
cription than that practised by the youngsters of 
the Ecole. Animated and amusing discussions 
would take place over dinner on subjects which 
were unknown in the Quartier. Altogether it was 
an indication that in appreciating this entourage one 
was beginning to take one's pleasures less boister- 
ously — that the etudiant stage was passing. 

It was Bohemia of a different type — as was also 
97 G 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

evidenced by the class of petites dames who were 
habituees of the cafe; for amongst them were 
some of the most celebrated of the artists' models 
in Paris. Sagatore, " La Sagatore " as she was 
called, a very handsome Italian woman who sat 
for Gerome principally ; Gabrielle, Ellen Andre, 
La Grande Louise, and La Belle Laure who sat 
chiefly for Humbert and Cormon, to mention only 
some who were famous for beauty of face and 
figure in those days. Most of the best-known 
models ended by " retiring " and going on the 
stage, or taking up business or getting married; 
or, still more frequently, finding rich amants. 

The last I heard of La Sagatore, she was run- 
ning a restaurant of her own and giving an excellent 
Italian cuisine, which she personally superintended. 
Ellen Andre became quite a well-known actress. 
I believe Gabrielle married a rich champagne mer- 
chant, and La Grande Louise made a big success 
as a music-hall singer. 

La Belle Laure's butterfly career ended in a 
tragedy of so thrilling and extraordinary a charac- 
ter that even now I can recall every detail of it. 
She was, as I have said, one of the most beautiful 
of the models in Paris, and used to sit principally 
for " odalisques," which will convey some idea how 
lovely was her face and how exquisite her figure. 
In addition to these physical attractions, she was 
young, dressed with wonderful taste, and was the 
most amusing chatterbox imaginable. She had 

98 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

started in her career as a model with everything 
in her favour, and was not long before she capti- 
vated a rich and good-looking young fellow, a 
' promising author, and became his mistress. 

All went well for some months and we saw them 
continually at the Rochefoucauld, when there 
appeared on the scene an elderly engineer, a very 
distinguished man, but a sort of sneering Mephis- 
topheles, with no respect at all for women. He 
was old enough to be her father; but to the 
astonishment of everyone La Belle Laure fell in 
love with him. What she saw in him was a 
mystery to us all, for he was, from a man's point 
of view, not particularly good-looking nor attrac- 
tive as a personality; but the fact remained, and 
from this moment she became his ame damnee, as 
it were. As she herself expressed it plaintively on 
one occasion to a friend of hers, " I am his slave — 
body and soul — and I cannot explain why I care 
for him as I do — for he has no regard for me, and 
never misses an opportunity to make me jealous 
and unhappy." It was a totally incomprehensible 
state of affairs, for she was still the mistress of the 
young author who worshipped the ground she trod 
on, although he must have known what was going 
on — unless he was exceptionally dense or wilfully 
blind. To give an example. On one occasion 
she was dining with him at the cafe when the 
other man looked in at the door and made a sign 
to her. She turned pale, and then making some 

99 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

excuse went out, to return in a few minutes in such 
a perturbed state that we all noticed it — but her 
amant said nothing. 

What she suffered at the hands of the other man 
we could only guess from what she told us at 
times. It appeared that he used to enjoy making 
her jealous — would purposely let her see him with 
other women when he had asked her to meet him, 
and so forth. This continued for some time till 
at last it got on her mind and she began to look 
ill; then one day she did not turn up as usual at 
the cafe. We then learned, to our horror, that she 
had committed suicide by taking a poison she had 
obtained by soaking phosphorous matches in water. 
She did not die, however, immediately, but lingered 
for some hours — during which time everything 
that was possible was done to save her, but without 
avail. Then came the pathos of it all; at the last 
moment the poor girl clung desperately to Hfe, all 
her old coquetry returned, and she wanted to live 
— but it was too late. Her amant, broken-hearted, 
nursed her, so they said, as tenderly as a sister 
of mercy. The man who was the cause of her 
mad deed pleaded hard to be allowed to see her, 
but her love had turned to implacable hatred. 

" Never," she cried, " will I see him again — for 
he it is who caused me to do this." 

The sequel to her death was equally tragic and 
extraordinary. A fortnight later the engineer 
committed suicide by shooting himself ; it had got 

100 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

on his brain the girl having refused to see him 
before she died — and a fortnight after that the 
young author threw himself out of his window ar^d 
killed himself. It seemed almost as if she had 
communicated to the two men the suggestion of 
suicide. Thus ended the most poignant romance 
of Bohemian life in Paris I ever heard of. 

All the models who used to come to the cafe were 
girls who took their work seriously — ^with them it 
was strictly business all the time, and one soon 
realised that, if one had thought otherwise at first. 
Of course it must not be inferred from all this that 
there were only models at the cafe, for many men 
brought their petites amies, and two of the latter 
were quite amusing characters in their way. They 
were both Londoners, curiously enough, for one 
would scarcely have expected English girls in this 
out-of-the-way place. They were dancers at the 
Folies Bergeres, and generally turned up for dinner 
before going to their work ; they ended by becom- 
ing great favourites, which was somewhat remark- 
able, as neither of them could speak a word of 
French — indeed it was a matter of wonder how they 
managed to get about as they did. This entire 
ignorance of the language led to a rather funny 
joke a man at the cafe got up expressly for 
our benefit. 

One of the two girls was very pretty — fair hair, 
nice teeth, good figure, blue eyes — a credit, in 
fact, to the Old Country, and a marked contrast 

lOI 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

to the swarthy type of French woman. To look 
at her you wouldn't have believed that butter would 
melt in her little mouth, and it was this artless 
appearance that prompted the joke. One night 
at dinner when she was trying to make herself 
understood, much to our amusement, someone who 
spoke EngUsh offered to teach her to speak French. 
As he was a good-looking fellow she accepted his 
offer. We thought no more of it, till to our amaze- 
ment some few days later she came out with some 
of the most awful words in French it is possible 
to conceive. Her preceptor had taught her 
phrases, to express the simplest thoughts, that I 
would not dare to repeat here. If she wanted to 
say the most ordinary thing, such as, for instance, 
" Please pass me the mustard," or anything equally 
trivial, she used language that would have made a 
sailor's hair curl — and the worst of it was she had 
learned all this in utter innocence, believing it was 
a translation of what she would say in English. 
It may be imagined the expression of amazement 
on strangers' faces when they heard such words 
issuing from the pretty lips of this dainty English 
miss. It took a long time before she managed to 
unlearn all she had learned, and she was very 
chary of French words for a long while after she 
found out how she had been hoaxed. 

Besides these two girls there were several others 
who use to come to lunch and dinner nearly every 
day. One often wondered what their lovers saw 

102 





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),MP 




y"^^ , ^ 


1 






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"^■^ ''" ~ " i 












-:»<i4 CU^ ^C^^fut-iAJL 



ONE OF THE GIRLS WAS VERY PRETTY, FAIR HAIR, MCE TEETH, 
GOOD FIGURE, BLUE EYES." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

in them, for they were seldom attractive in 
appearance, and frequently well past their youth- 
ful days. 

I recollect there was a musician who had the 
reputation of being a great favourite with the 
ladies; he told me one day how charming his girl 
was, and that he would like me to see her — so we 
arranged to dine together, when, to my astonish- 
ment, after his glowing description, I saw quite a 
plain and homely female, of uncertain age, of the 
sort that one would pass in the street without look- 
ing at twice. " She must indeed have some hidden 
attraction for my friend t rave about her as he 
does," thought I. 

The next time we met at the cafe he eagerly 
asked what I thought of her. 

I rephed evasively that she was very sym- 
pathique, but not quite my type. 

He instinctively gathered my meaning. 

" She may not perhaps be beautiful in the face 
as beauty g-^es," he retorted, " but you should see 
her feet, they are adorable." 

This reminds me of a witty way I once heard of 
describing in a nice manner a plain-looking girl. 
" It is true she is not pretty, but she has a good 
heart and she loves her mother." 

There were very seldom fresh faces to be seen 
at the cafe — so it was not the place in which to 
seek an " aventure " ; as a matter of fact, the place 
had become, as it were, so exclusively the pro- 

103 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

perty of those who habitually frequented it, that 
if by any chance a stray client or a family party 
happened to come in it was immediately the signal 
for an outburst of language so awful, and stories 
so blue, that they had to leave. 

The Cafe de la Rochefoucauld has long ceased 
to exist, and its last days were almost dramatically 
pathetic. For some time previous the proprietors 
had been struggling against misfortune, in the 
shape of the cafe no longer paying — competition, 
increase in cost of food, bad debts. 

There were many old habitues who had owed 
money for months — almost years, who were unable 
to settle up, yet could not be turned away for fear 
the cafe should look too empty. The end was 
bound to come, and come it did, and with a crash 
one evening. The gas was cut off, the butcher and 
baker refused to deliver any more meat or bread, 
and the patron sadly announced that there was no 
dinner to serve. So determined, however, were 
we all not to go elsewhere if we could possibly help 
it, that we all went out and bought charcuterie and 
petits pains and butter and cheese and candles 
which we stuck in bottles. There was still plenty 
of wine in the cellar, so we managed a dinner of 
sorts, though it was a very cheerless one, as we all 
realised this was the last night of the old Cafe de 
la Rochefoucauld; and so it proved, for the next 
day the place was bolted and barred, and shortly 
afterwards sold up, 

104 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

The Rochefoucauld was a Bohemian centre in 
every sense of the word — Bohemianism that cannot 
exist nowadays, unhappily. It was very kindly 
and genuine ; so long as a man was a good fellow 
and was introduced, as it were, into it, he was as 
welcome as any of the most distinguished of its 
habitues. There was no trace of snobbishness in 
the crowd, although talent certainly did inspire 
much respect; and I admit we youngsters were 
all very proud of the distinguished company one 
so often saw there. The possible possession of 
wealth carried no weight whatever, and, above all, 
no idle curiosity was ever evinced as to a man's 
means ; nor were they discussed, unless he himself 
mentioned the subject. 

As an instance of this, I recall a peculiar 
mystery surrounding one of the most genial of the 
men we constantly met. He was supposed to be 
a writer on the Press, but no one knew for what 
paper he worked ; and since he vouchsafed no 
information on the subject he was not asked — 
suffice it he was a good chap, paid his whack, was 
always well-dressed, and was liked generally by the 
men and the women. The mystery lay in the fact 
that during all the years he had been coming to 
the Rochefoucauld no one had got to know any- 
thing about him, or where he lived even. He 
would generally be the last to leave the cafe, would 
sometimes walk a short distance with other men 
on their way home, then with a friendly good night 

105 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

leave them and disappear — no one knew where 
— till the following day. His secretiveness 
naturally excited comment, but no remarks were 
ever made before him on the subject. His life 
was indeed one of those enigmas which can only 
exist in Bohemia, 

Bohemianism, however, as we understood it, 
was often very amusing in a way, and not infre- 
quently brought about curious predicaments ; and 
in this connection I recall rather a funny incident. 
One day a friend of ours, who had been away for 
some time painting in the country, turned up at 
the cafe for lunch, and announced his intention 
of passing the night in Paris, so as to spend a few 
hours with us and go to a cafe concert or some- 
where and have a good time. He was a very jolly 
fellow, and under ordinary circumstances we 
should have been delighted ; but he had come up 
from the country in such extraordinary attire that 
the idea of being seen with such a scarecrow was 
out of the question. We were not squeamish on 
the point of dress, but his get-up was the limit — 
even for Montmartre ; his hat, coat, waistcoat, and 
boots looked as if they had been collected from a 
rubbish-heap. Still we didn't like to hurt his feel- 
ings by telling him so, as he might have been hard 
up and not able to afford anything better — when 
after lunch someone had the happy inspiration to 
suggest our rigging him up for the evening in, as 
he put it nicely, " a less countrified costume." After 

1 06 




'tHEV WliRK DAN'CERS AT THE FOLIES' BERGERES.' 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

a little demur he accepted, so we managed to get 
him up somehow and arranged to dine at the Petit 
Riche in the Rue le Pelletier, and spend the even- 
ing on the Grands Boulevards. When we all met 
for our aperitif at the Cafe Cardinal he looked 
quite respectable as compared to when he 
arrived in the morning, and he seemed to realise 
it also. 

Then suddenly the humour of the situation 
struck us, and with one accord we all began to 
" rag " him, and during dinner we were continually 
getting at him — as, for instance, whilst he was 
eating his soup the man the coat and waistcoat 
belonged to said in a mock injured tone, " I say, 
old man, you might try to be a bit careful — you're 
dropping soup all down my waistcoat ; you wouldn't 
do it if it was your own." Then someone else 
said, " Don't forget that's my collar you've got on 
— you'll pull it all out of shape if you twist your 
head about like that " ; and other equally idiotic 
remarks — much to our own amusement and that 
of the people sitting near who could hear it all. 

In the street after dinner we began chipping him 
about the boots. " You needn't walk in all the 
mud you can find, old fellow — please remember 
they are not your boots you've got on," and so forth 
— and so it went on all the evening. It was very 
funny, we thought, and we were roaring with 
laughter the whole time, and he took it all in very 
good part till at last, after many consommations at 

107 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

different cafes, he began to get a bit huffy at our 
persistent ragging, and threw out a hint that it 
was about time we stopped it. 

This of course only had the effect of increasing 
our merriment. He then said some nasty things, 
and suddenly, as we were walking along the Boule- 
vard de la Madeleine, he stopped, and to our 
surprise sat down on a seat and took off his boots, 
and then his coat and waistcoat and collar and tie, 
and flinging them with his hat on to the seat he 
exclaimed, " Here, take back your damned things, 
I won't wear them any longer." In vain did we 
endeavour to appease his wrath — he absolutely 
refused to put them on again. Meanwhile a crowd 
began to collect, and we looked like being in for 
an unpleasant affair. " You've had your joke all 
the evening," he yelled, " now I'll have mine, and 
you won't get rid of me till I want to go — and you 
can do what you like with the clothes, I only wore 
them to oblige you." 

Of course we couldn't leave the things on the 
seat, so in a very sheepish way we picked them up 
in silence — since it was evidently useless arguing 
with him. We then hailed a cab, thinking that the 
best thing to do was to get him home, but he 
wouldn't get in. 

" Oh no, you are not going to get out of it like 
that — ^we are going to walk back," he said in a 
tone that meant mischief. 

There was no help for it; we felt the best 
io8 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

thing was to humour him, so we paid off the 
cabman and started walking down the Rue Cau- 
martin — to the vast amusement of the people who 
had gathered round and who were following us. 
They evidently thought our companion was an 
escaped lunatic. 

Well, to cut a long story short we managed to 
get him back to the hotel where he was staying 
— but only with great difficulty, as he wanted to 
stop on the way and fight us all ; and it was with 
a feehng of relief that we saw the door close on 
him. As we talked the incident over at a cafe 
afterwards, we were all agreed that it was a bit 
of luck we hadn't lent him a pair of trousers. 



109 



CHAPTER X 

Caf^s in Montmartre — The Nouvelles Atli^nes— The Rat 
Mort — The Place Blanche — Amusing experience — An in- 
cident on the Place Pigalle — The Abbaye de Th^leme — 
The 6lysee Montmartre— The Moulin de la Galette— The 
fast women in the Rue Br6da and the Quartier de Notre 
Dame de Lorette — Brasseries and cafes — The frail sister- 
hood — The underworld of Montmartre — The artists' 
colony — Studios — Artists' models on the Place Pigalle — 
The istudio district — The inception of the Cabaret du 
Chat Noir — Rodolphe Salis " Gentilhomme Cabaretier " 
— Removal of the Cabaret to the Rue de Laval — Remark- 
able procession — A midnight escapade — Artistic sur- 
roundings of the Chat Noir — The theatre — Famous 
productions — Array of talent — Great success of the 
Cabaret — Imitation Chat Noirs — The Lion d'Or — New 
school of decoration. 

There were, of course, many other cafes in Mont- 
martre which were also frequented by artists — the 
Nouvelle Athenes on the Place Pigalle and the one 
on the Place Blanche, to mention only two where 
we used to go occasionally. 

Alluding to these cafes reminds me of a very 
curious though perhaps amusing experience I had 
on one occasion. A charmmg lady (they were all 
charming in those days) had promised to lunch 
with me, and wrote to say she would meet me 

no 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

at the cafe on the Place Blanche at one o'clock. 
I was delighted, and got there ten minutes before 
the time so as not to keep her waiting in case 
she was punctual. I ordered an aperitif, and not 
having read the paper that morning I called for 
the Figaro. Absorbed in my reading I did not 
notice the time ; then suddenly I thought of it, and 
looked at my watch. It was half-past one. She 
was half an hour late ; surely something must have 
happened to prevent her keeping the appointment. 
All of a sudden it flashed through my mind, as I 
looked round, that our rendezvous was at the cafe 
on the Place Blanche, and that I was seated at the 
Nouvelle Athenes on the Place Pigalle. How it 
came about I cannot explain, except that it must 
have been a fit of abstraction on my part. 

Well, in less time than it takes to relate I had 
paid the waiter, and was running as fast as I could 
to the Place Blanche a few hundred yards distant 
— but she was not there. When I got back to my 
room after lunch I found a note from her telling 
me she had waited for me for half an hour, and 
hoped there had been no misunderstanding as to 
the appointment. She was good-natured enough 
to forgive me, and lunched with me another day, 
when I explained the contretemps, putting it 
down, as she said laughingly, to my temperament 
d'artiste. Not many women would have been so 
kind. 

At the opposite corner of the Place Pigalle was 
iir 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

the Rat Mort, then a place of unpleasant repute 
even for Montmartre — as it had the reputation of 
being frequented only by ladies and gentlemen of 
certain proclivities. Still it gradually seemed to 
improve, and the usual habitues migrating else- 
where apparently, it then got to be known that they 
gave an excellent table d'hote dinner with vin a 
discretion at 2.25, and it was by degrees taken up 
till at last one could actually be seen going in 
without any chafhng remarks being made after- 
wards; whilst it eventually also became a place 
where one sat outside and took one's coffee and 
so forth. 

The life on the Place Pigalle was very interesting 
to watch from the terrasse of either of the cafes, 
especially of an evening before dinner; there was 
always a stream of petites ouvrieres on their way 
home, and if it were at all muddy one would get 
a gratuitous display of dainty ankles. 

I remember sitting with some pals outside the 
Rat Mort one summer evening taking our 
aperitifs. It had been raining but had cleared up. 
We were in a larky sort of mood. Suddenly one 
of us exclaimed, " What a lovely leg that girl's got 
crossing over there ; if her face is anything to 
match she must be a real beauty." 

" Well, it's easily found out," I remarked. 

"How?" 

" By going after her and having a look, of 
course," I replied, making a movement as though 

IT2 



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.O-iA^t^ 




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AT THE CAFE. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

I were about to do so ; but at that moment the 
object of our curiosity turned round to avoid a 
passing cab, and revealed the most charming of 
faces and figures. She was indeed chic and attrac- 
tive, and we all gave an exclamation of approval. 

" You are so daring, Price," said one of the 
chaps — " I'll tell you what I'll do : I'll bet you five 
francs you don't go after her and bring her back 
to dinner." 

" I don't like to encourage your extravagance," 
I replied in the same vein, " but I'll take on your 
bet all the same." 

" I'll make it a bottle of wine as well, that you 
don't even get her to speak to you." 

" Done with you," I replied, and picking up my 
hat and stick I dashed across the road after the 
beautiful stranger. I felt that my reputation as 
a " blood " was at stake, so had no hesitation. 

Just as she reached the opposite side of the 
Boulevard, and was walking up the Rue Houdon, 
I caught her up. I was breathless both with 
excitement and with hurrying. Without pausing 
I raised my hat and blurted out, " Pardon me. 
Mademoiselle, for speaking to you, but will you 
help me make a fortune ? " 

She stopped dead, and looked at me with 
astonishment, amazed for a moment at my imper- 
tinence in speaking to her, for she was evidently 
not the type of girl to be a la recherche d'une 
aventure. 

113 H 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

"Que me voulez-vous, Monsieur? " she ejacu- 
lated ; then noting perhaps that I was not an evil- 
looking ruffian, she added, " Je ne vous connais 
pas." 

But that in itself was sufficient ; it only remained 
with me to start a conversation. In the distance 
I could see my friends at the cafe standing up, the 
better to watch developments. I had an inspira- 
tion which I flattered myself afterwards was a 
masterpiece. 

" It's this way. Mademoiselle," I said ; " I am 
an artist and I am looking for a specially beautiful 
face for a picture I am going to paint, and as you 
passed I said to myself that if I could only persuade 
you to sit for me my fortune is made. So you can 
help me if you will; anyhow I offer you my 
apologies for venturing to accost you." 

It was bold introduction, but it caught on. 
Although she repeated, " Mais je ne vous connais 
pas. Monsieur," I could see she was not really 
angry, now she knew my reason for stopping her ; 
so one portion of the bet was already won — now 
for the other. But in these few minutes I had 
realised that she was no ordinary girl like one 
could meet any day in Montmartre ; so I quickly 
made up my mind that if I could help it the adven- 
ture should not end so abruptly. The ice was 
now broken, so after some persuasion I got her to 
let me accompany her just a httle way whilst I 
told her all about my picture — ^which needless 

114 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

to say had only just been evolved from my 
imagination. 

" Vous etes un Monsieur bien original," she said, 
as with some hesitation she consented ; adding, 
" Mais seulement un petit bout de chemin." 

I soon discovered, and to my surprise, for I had 
hoped for something different, that she was quite 
a respectable girl, living with her people in the Rue 
Lepic, and was employed as vendeuse at a big 
millinery establishment in the Rue Royale. We 
strolled on for quite a long while getting more and 
more friendly, till she gradually threw off her 
reserve of manner and remarked naively that any- 
one to see us would take us for old friends ; and 
then I remembered the bet and felt almost ashamed 
of myself for having told her such a lot of fibs. 
When, however, she said she must be getting 
home, and I then suggested her dining with me 
instead, she wouldn't hear of it for a moment. 

" Une autre fois, peut-etre, mais pas ce soir " ; 
besides, she was expected home. After a deal of 
persuasion I managed to get her to give me an 
address where I could write her, and she promised 
to meet me another evening; then she hurried 
away. 

W^hen I got back to the cafe my friends had 
nearly finished dinner; they gave a roar of laugh- 
ter when I appeared alone, and the one who had 
made the bet began to chaff me mildly. I pulled 
out a five-franc piece and handed it to him, saying, 

115 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

" You have won that part of the bet, old man, but 
I'll have the bottle of wine with you, at any rate." 
They started asking a lot of questions, but I refused 
to be drawn. 

" Comme il est malin, ce vieux Price," they 
declared. 

I wondered if they guessed the luck the bet had 
brought me. 

A few days later we met again, but not by acci- 
dent this time, and I took her to a very quiet 
restaurant away from my artistic haunts ; and we 
sat right in a corner in case anyone should happen 
to come in who knew her at home, and we had 
a simple little dinner which she chose herself — and 
then I told her all about the bet and she wasn't 
the least bit angry, but laughed heartily and said, 
" On m'a toujours dit que les Anglais sont mono- 
tones, mais vous ne Fetes pas au moins." Then 
we strolled back through quiet streets in quite 
spoony fashion, and I snatched an occasional kiss 
in dark doorways ; and it was very nice and all 
that — ^but it wasn't a bit what I had expected, for 
she had to get in early unless she was going to a 
theatre, she told me. One evening, " when her 
parents knew me," she would perhaps be allowed 
to stay out later. We had a very peaceful, pleasant 
evening, and I promised to write and fix another 
appointment ; but on thinking it all over afterwards 
I came to the conclusion that it w^uld be better 
for us both not to meet again — so I didn't write. 

ii6 




THE WHOLE DISTRICT WAS FULL OF WOMEN AND THEIR SOUTENEURS. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Next door to the Rat Mort on the Place Pigalle 
an artist's house, I think it was Stevens, with 
studio and garden, had just been bought by some 
enterprising restaurateur who had conceived the 
original idea of turning it all into a high-class res- 
taurant; so one lunched or dined in the salle a 
manger and the salon and the big studio upstairs, 
whilst during the summer it was pleasant to take 
one's coffee under the tree in the garden which 
overlooked the Place. To this new place was 
given the artistic and resounding appellation of 
the Abbaye de Theleme. The prices were just a 
trifle higher than elsewhere in the neighbourhood, 
but very moderate considering. 

Montmartre in those days was a very different 
place to what it is now, and no one could ever have 
imagined it would have developed into such a 
fashionable resort at night. The Moulin Rouge 
was not dreamed of. The chief place of amuse- 
ment was the Elysee Montmartre a dancing- 
hall on the Boulevard Rochechouart, where all 
the smartest and the fastest girls and the artists' 
models were to be found. Everybody used to go 
there, and it was quite the only thing to do on 
Saturday and Sunday nights during the winter. 
One was pretty sure to find an " aventure " there 
also if one was looking for one. On Sundays, in 
the afternoon, there was dancing up at the Moulin 
de la Galette, a quaint ramshackle old place 
on the heights of Montmartre. 

117 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

This was quite a picturesque spot close to the 
fortifications, on the top of a steep hill. It was 
almost rural in its seclusion, and was more like a 
corner in a small provincial town than a portion 
of busy Paris; the view one obtained from the 
terrace alone was worth the arduous cHmb up the 
ill-paved streets to reach it, and many people went 
up only for this, and with no intention of dancing. 
The ballroom was very primitive, as it had evi- 
dently been a big barn originally, and there was 
no pretence at all at luxury about it or the gardens 
surrounding it. Close by was the battered ruin of 
an old mill, from which it got its name. Here the 
crowd was of a very rough description ; though one 
often met artists up there, it was not at all artistic. 
One was charged twopence a dance, and a man 
used to collect this during the dances. There 
were always a lot of pretty girls there, but it was 
a somewhat risky thing to ask anyone you didn't 
know to dance with you, as it was more than prob- 
able her " macquereau " was close by, and he and 
his pals might set on you when you got outside. 
This was constantly happening, as there was never 
more than one policeman on duty in the hall. 
Artists would go up there to look for a pretty model, 
and have a very bad time if they went up alone 
and were too venturesome. 

Although it was the artists' quarter it was also a 
hot-bed of vice. The whole of the district round 
where I lived was full of women and their 

ii8 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

souteneurs, and in the Rue Breda and round about 
on a warm summer evening one would see dozens 
of them hanging out of their windows in the 
scantiest of attire, and they would often beckon 
one to come up if they thought one looked like 
a possible client. I never accepted one of these 
invitations myself, but men told me they had at 
times, if they felt they wanted cheering up before 
dinner, instead of having an aperitif. There was, 
however, no necessity to go out of one's way to 
look up at the windows for such adventures if one 
were so minded, as the streets of the Quartier de 
Notre Dame de Lorette fairly reeked with cocottes, 
and they were to be seen everywhere — gorgeously 
dressed in the latest of fashion, and painted up to 
their eyes. There were any number of brasseries 
and cafes which were crowded with them of a night 
— where one saw every possible grade of frail 
sisterhood. 

I shall never forget my first impressions of one 
of these places. It was close on daybreak. In 
the hot, fetid atmosphere, reeking with musk and 
the fumes of stale tobacco smoke, the crowd of 
wanton women with their painted and powdered 
faces and tawdry finery appeared almost inhuman. 
I remember that on looking round I wondered what 
attraction, sensually or otherwise, these bedizened 
trollops could possibly present, even to the most 
drunken debauchee, for most of them were quite 
middle-aged, and I did not see one with any 

119 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

pretension to good-looks. There were very few 
men in the cafe, and the women sat at the tables in 
gloomy silence, for time was getting on and soon 
the place would be closing, and then naught would 
remain but to make their way wearily to the all- 
night houses near the Halles Centrales, the last 
hope of the Paris street-walker — out of luck. 

It was indeed a picture of the underworld of 
a great city. There were also not a few places in the 
neighbourhood which enjoyed a peculiar notoriety 
distinctly Parisian, where the sterner sex were 
seldom to be seen. In fact so " hot " was the district 
that I often wondered if any respectable female 
really lived in it. The artists' colony adjoined, 
and in places overlapped it — ^whether by accident 
or design one can only surmise ; anyhow, one would 
find studios in all the streets around the Place 
Pigalle — whilst along the Boulevard there seemed 
to be one in every house, judging from the immense 
windows facing north; in fact some houses con- 
sisted only of studios. The frame-makers and 
colour merchants apparently thrived well in this 
quarter, for there were numbers of them. Artists' 
models, mostly Italians, male and female, used to 
loiter about the centre of the Place Pigalle waiting 
for a job — and with their picturesque costumes 
imparted a bright welcome note of colour on a sunny 
morning. 

The studio district stretches now right up the 
heights of Montmartre — but I am only concerned 

120 




'the women sat at the tables in gloomy silence." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

with the part where I Hved at that time, and which 
was the original colony — the Boulevard Roche- 
chouart, the Boulevard de Clichy, and some of the 
neighbouring streets. It now extends as far as 
the Pare Monceau. No description of the quarter 
would be complete without some mention of the 
famous Cabaret du Chat Noir which had just been 
opened in the Rue de Laval (now the Rue Victor 
Masse) by the artist, poet, and writer, Rodolphe 
Salis. 

Originally started on the Boulevard Roche- 
chouart in 1 88 1, in a modest shop which served as 
studio for Salis, it became the rendezvous of all 
the eccentric artists, poets, musicians, and writers 
of Montmartre, who gave full vent to the most 
revolutionary theories in their work, whilst osten- 
sibly drinking the comparatively harmless beer of 
France. These reunions gradually became talked 
about and other people outside the little set 
became attracted to the place. The growing 
eclat of the coterie decided SaHs to transform his 
studio into an artistic cabaret which he described 
as being under the proprietorship of a " Gentil- 
homme Cabaretier " and " pour verser a boire a 
tous ceux qui gagnent artistiquement le soif." 

The walls were plentifully adorned with old 
tapestry and other quaint decorations and paint- 
ings, as well as with busts of the original members. 
A magnificent black cat, which had served as 
model to several artists, was the oriflamme of the 

121 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

little establishment which henceforth blazoned out 
under the sonorous appellation of " L'Institut " (a 
skit on the famous temple of Science and Art of 
Paris), and where only those who made their living 
by their intellect were eligible as members. 
Gradually the vogue of the place spread amongst 
the artists and writers away from Montmartre, and 
it became generally known as the " Chat Noir." 
The artistic soirees of Salis began to be talked 
about ; the tickets of invitation to these gatherings 
were eagerly sought after, till at length the modest 
ci-devant shop became too small to contain all 
those who wished to be present. 

In the face of such extraordinary success, Salis 
decided to move the " Institut " to more important 
.nd convenient premises in the Rue de Laval in 
1885. The removal of the cabaret from its old 
quarters was made in the most original and fantas- 
tic style — as might have been expected from so 
many fertile brains. At eleven at night a remark- 
able and picturesque procession was formed, and 
to the accompaniment of weird music the members 
marched through the streets with their bag and 
baggage to their " new home " ; whilst the whole 
quarter turned out to witness the most curious 
spectacle that had ever been offered to Montmartre. 
The festivity in connection with the removal of 
the " Chat Noir " continued late in the night, and 
some of the younger and more boisterous of the 
followers of Salis were so carried away by the 

122 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

exuberance of their spirits that they started playing 
pranks outside the cabaret, which might have 
landed them in trouble. As it was, they only 
escaped through a fortuitous circumstance which 
was quite amusing in itself. 

About two in the morning half a dozen or so 
of young fellows, my cousin Jephson amongst 
them, after all sorts of hare-brained escapades, 
started scaling lamp-posts and turning out the 
gas. They were thus merrily engaged when some 
sergents de ville suddenly appeared on the scene, 
arrested them all, and conveyed them to the 
nearest poste de police, where they were brought 
before the officer on a charge of riotous behaviour. 
Though doubtless accustomed to such boyish 
pranks on the part of artists and students, he 
assumed a very grave air, expatiated on the 
heinousness of their conduct, and told them to 
their astonishment that they would have to prove 
their identity ; also that unless they could find bail 
he would not let them out till they had seen the 
Commissaire the following day. 

Here was a pretty ending to a night's amuse- 
ment ; but there was no help for it, since he refused 
to regard it all as a harmless joke, so they began 
producing letters and cards to prove their respecta- 
bility. Jephson alone had neither a card nor a 
letter on him — but in searching his pockets he 
came across a " spoof " letter that a facetious 
London friend had posted to his rooms in the 

123 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Rue St Georges that day. It was addressed thus : 
" To the Right Honourable Lord Sir Charles 
Jephson, Esquire, N.B. R.S.V.P., etc. etc., dans son 
Hotel de Saint Georges — a Paris." 

In a spirit of banter he handed the envelope to 
the official, who read it attentively. The effect 
produced was astounding; he rose from his chair 
and with an obsequious bow assured Jephson that 
he would accept his assurance that he and all his 
friends would attend before the Commissaire when 
ordered to do so — or words to that effect. So 
they all trooped out of the station again, and 
curiously enough they heard no more of the affair ; 
which perhaps proved that even in a Republican 
country like France a high-sounding title still 
carries weight. 

The new habitation of the " Chat Noir " was a 
veritable museum, as all its members had contri- 
buted towards its embellishment by presenting 
artistic treasures in the shape of furniture, pictures, 
old china, pewter, armour, and tapestry. From 
the entrance and up to the second floor it was a 
series of surprises. A gigantic Swiss guard, hal- 
berd in hand, stood at the doorway; on entering 
one was confronted with a huge carved fireplace — 
flanked on either side by two grotesque black cats. 
The place had been designed on the lines of an 
old Flemish hostelry; the greatest humoristic 
artists of the day had decorated it, and it was 
unique in all its details. The beer tankards, glass, 

124 











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ir 



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a /vt^ j-i^c a^iCj ^4i.cki.^ 



AT THE "chat NOIK." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

and crockery were delightful — even the waiters 
were picturesque, and, garbed as Academicians, 
bore themselves with becoming dignity. On the 
first floor was a tiny theatre where veritable chefs- 
d'oeuvre were given by their authors by means 
of silhouettes on a white screen with a strong light 
behind. 

When it is mentioned that such masters of satire 
as Caran dAche, Willette, Uzes, Pille, and Henri 
Riviere collaborated in their production, it will 
be realised how spirituelle were those shows. 
L'Epopee, La tentation de Saint Antoine, and 
L'enfant Prodigue amongst others became famous, 
and attracted all Paris. Quite an attroupement of 
talent was gradually gathered at the " Chat Noir " — 
and Alphonse Allais, Jules Jouy, Maurice Donnay, 
Jean Rameau, A. Masson, Mouloya, MacNab, 
and Delmet all gave readings of their first composi- 
tions here. 

For some years these and other equally clever 
attractions drew crowds to the Rue de Laval ; but 
as nothing succeeds like success, rivals in the shape 
of other quaint cabarets and brasseries gradually 
sprung up. There were more men in Montmartre 
with original ideas, and so it came about that the 
inception and success of the " Chat Noir " un- 
doubtedly brought about extraordinary changes, not 
only in the life of Montmartre but in the world of 
entertainment generally. In a very few years there 
were imitation " Chat Noirs " all over the district, 

125 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

and then the rage extended to the Grands Boule- 
vards, where a dehghtfully decorated and appointed 
restaurant, built also on the lines of an old Flemish 
auberge, was opened under the name of the Lion 
d'Or, in the Rue du Helder. Many others, too 
numerous to mention, followed — in all of which 
the original conception of Salis could be traced — 
namely, to give scope to eccentric genius and 
original thought — with the result that a new school 
of decoration sprang up, which gradually ousted 
time-worn academic methods, and which still holds 
its own. 



126 



CHAPTER XI 

Commission to paint portrait of Monsieur Thomas for the 
Salon — I make a start — A studio in the Rue de Reuilly — 
Amusing episode — The portrait finished — " Sending-in " 
day — " Accepted " — A little dinner to celebrate event — A 
funny incident — The lady and the lion — The Vernissage at 
the Salon — Coveted invitations — The eventful day — The 
scene outside the Palais de 1' Industrie — The search for 
one's picture — The crovi^d — Smart people — Dejeuner at 
Ledoyens — ^The scene in the Sculpture Hall after lunch — A 
drive in the Bois and a bock at the Cascade. 

Monsieur Thomas had promised me when I 
started work at the Ecole that one day when I 
had got on a bit he would let me paint his portrait 
for the Salon. I now felt that the time had come 
when I might remind him of it — and, moreover, 
this would be my first attempt at exhibiting a 
picture. There were three months before send- 
ing in, but knowing what a busy man he was I 
felt my only chance of getting it completed in 
time would be if he would let me commence at 
once. To my delight he consented, and, good 
fellow that he was, he told me that he would pay 
me five hundred francs for it, with an extra five 

127 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

hundred francs if it got hung. I wanted no such 
incentive, as I intended to try my best to make a 
success of the portrait ; still it would certainly be 
five hundred francs the more if it got in, and the 
money would be very useful. I already started, 
in my mind, laying it out, in furniture principally. 

The principal question was where to paint the 
great work, as I had no studio. This, however, 
was solved by the kind suggestion that I should 
do it at the Rue de Reuilly, where there was a 
good-sized room with the requisite north light. 
So one day I took a canvas, my easel, and my 
paint-box over there and made a start. We had 
decided that half life-size would be better than 
painting it in unwieldy dimensions, as one had to 
consider where it could be placed later. It was 
quite like a return to my early days at the Ecole, 
when I found myself once more continually in the 
company of my old friends. Not that I had 
neglected them, but many things had happened 
during the two years and a half that had elapsed 
since I had come to Paris, and we had not seen 
each other quite so regularly as at first — when 
Sunday was my jour de famille. The old hearty 
welcome was still there though ; they received me 
as they would have their own son — and, indeed, 
I felt as if it were my home I was returning to. 

To move out the furniture and abandon the 
room entirely to me, in order to give me every 
chance of my doing my best, was the first step ; and 

128 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

in a very short time it was fixed up as cosily as if 
it had been a real studio. The idea that the whole 
house was being upset to suit me never seemed 
to occur to these kind-hearted people. Working 
under such delightful conditions, it is not to be 
wondered at that I put my best efforts into the 
portrait, and Monsieur Thomas helped me by 
sitting as often and as long as he could; in fact, 
his good-nature was quite remarkable — the recol- 
lection even now of one instance in particular still 
makes me smile. It is sufficiently amusing to be 
recounted. 

In my enthusiastic endeavour to produce a 
masterpiece I was painstaking to a degree — and 
one day I evolved, as I thought, the brilliant idea 
that the high lights in the face could be studied 
better if some greasy matter was used so as to 
catch the light. It occurred to me that cold cream 
would serve this purpose without being unpleasant. 
My friend, without a second's hesitation, fell in 
with my views, and actually agreed to cover his 
face with cold cream for the purpose. I shall 
never forget the funny appearance he presented 
when this was done. It was a cold winter's day, 
yet he looked as though it was the height of 
summer, and that he was perspiring profusely. 

I was getting on splendidly with my work and 
congratulating myself on this idea, when suddenly 
came a knock at the door. Monsieur was wanted 
immediately in his bureau — it was most urgent, 

129 I 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Completely forgetting the state of his face Mon- 
sieur Thomas dashed out of the room. I learned 
afterwards that it was an important customer who 
had called, and the effect on him of seeing Monsieur 
Thomas arrive in such an extraordinary condition 
could better be imagined than described. It took 
some explaining, and then they both laughed 
heartily — but there was no more cold cream after 
that; I had to do the high lights as best I could 
without. 

I used to go there several days a week after 
leaving the Ecole, get there in time for lunch, and 
have a couple of hours' painting after. So I 
managed to get the work completed well in time 
for sending-in day. On the previous evening 
several friends were invited to dinner especially 
to see the result of my labour, and of course 
nothing but compliments passed, as might have 
been expected — whatever they thought. Still, it 
was not altogether a bad portrait, and the best 
work I had yet done. It went in and I passed 
days of anxious waiting till the glad tidings came 
that it was accepted. Everyone at the Rue de 
Reuilly, even to the ouvriers, were delighted, for 
somehow they all seemed to be interested In my 
career, whilst up at Montmartre, amongst my 
artistic friends, we had a little dinner to celebrate 
the event, and several petites amies came, and we 
had a jolly evening. 

But it was one thing to be accepted ; it now 
130 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

remained to be seen how I had been hung — for on 
that depended the success of the picture. I should 
know nothing of this till the " Vernissage," that 
most important of events, from the artist's point 
of view, of the whole year. 

I remember a funny incident that occurred just 
before sending-in day, when several of us were in 
a friend's studio. He was a very clever painter 
of animals, and was exhibiting that year a very 
important subject, in which a magnificent lion 
figured prominently. We were all admiring the 
painting when another artist arrived accompanied 
by a lady — also to look at the picture. As we all 
knew each other we began chatting and discussing 
the work. The artist, I forgot to mention, was 
out at the time. The lady was immensely inter- 
ested in the lion especially, and asked a lot of naive 
questions as to how the painter had managed to 
get one to sit for him. This somehow started us 
joking, and she was told very seriously that the 
lion in question had been brought to the studio, 
and that there was no difficulty for an animal 
painter to get wild beasts as models, provided he 
could afford to pay the exorbitant fees asked by 
their owners for their services. In fact, large 
fortunes had been made by the lucky proprietors 
of giraffes, hippopotami, etc. All this was told 
with an air of the utmost sincerity, and she 
evidently believed every word of it — when she 
suddenly remarked, with a laugh, that she hoped 

131 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

there were no lions about the studio, as she didn't 
like them unless they were in a cage. 

" In a cage," someone reiterated. " Artists don't 
paint lions in cages ; when they want them they 
are brought to the studios and left to roam about 
all over the place." 

" But it must be very dangerous at times," safd 
the lady. 

"Yes, indeed," she was informed; "in fact so 
much so that that explained why this class of 
picture fetched such high prices, as several men 
had been devoured by their models." 

A puzzled look came over the face of the demoi- 
selle ; then she suddenly seemed to think that 
we were having a joke at her expense, for she 
remarked with a laugh that perhaps there were 
a few lions still about the place. 

" Rather," we told her; " he always keeps them 
in his bedroom; there is one in there now. Go 
and see for yourself ; that's the door." 

She hesitated, for all this had been told her 
most seriously; then probably to show she didn't 
believe us she went and opened the door and 
looked into the room. To our utter astonishment 
we heard something spring forward; there was 
what sounded like a bloodcurdling roar of a wild 
beast — and the lady, with a horrified shriek, 
dropped in a faint on the floor. 

We rushed forward and found that the wild 
beast was a huge boarhound belonging to the 

132 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

artist, which he had chained to the bed before 
going out, and it was in sheer delight at being 
^visited that it had given the bark, which to our 
startled ears had sounded like a roar. 

The lady soon recovered, and when she learned 
that the supposed lion was only a dog after all 
she quickly regained her composure, to our great 
relief; and she ended by laughing heartily at the 
extraordinary denouement to our silly badinage — 
for the shock might easily have had serious results. 

The " Vernissage " at the Salon was, in my 
time, not only the most important day of the year 
for the artist who was exhibiting, but also for the 
fashionable world of Paris, as it was looked upon 
as one of the principal events of the season. 
Although nominally the day on which the artist 
was invited to inspect, and, if necessary, varnish 
his work — and therefore quite a professional 
affair — it had gradually developed into a big 
society function. Everybody who fancied himself 
or herself had to be seen there. In those days 
invitations for the "Vernissage" were amongst 
the most coveted and sought after of anything 
during the Paris season. It followed, therefore, 
that year by year the crowd of people who had 
some claim to being invited to be present went 
on increasing in number till it at last occurred to 
the powers that it could be made into a paying 
as well as a fashionable affair, so they charged 
for admission instead of issuing invitations — and 

133 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

now everyone with a louis to spare can be present 
at the " Vernissage." It has, therefore, become 
more a sort of expensive " dress rehearsal " before 
the ordinary opening day, though it still retains to 
a certain extent its old prestige. Needless to add, 
that the actual exhibitors do not pay for the privi- 
lege of being present. At the time I am about 
to describe, the " Vernissage " at the Palais de 
I'Industrie still retained its original eclat. 

My carte entitled me to take a friend, so, of 
course. Monsieur Thomas accompanied me. He 
was as keen on going as I was, apart from the 
fact that his portrait was there — for he was not 
accustomed to attending society gatherings, the 
hospitable abode of the Rue de Reuilly being in 
every respect remote from the Faubourg St 
Germain or the Pare Monceau. My friends were 
estimable, simple bourgeois, without any preten- 
sions to social rank. 

If I remember rightly the Salon opened at the 
early hour of nine ; anyhow we got there some 
time before — so as not to miss anything of this 
eventful day in my career, as I was exhibiting for 
the first time. It was indeed a motley crowd we 
saw on our arrival — for we were not the first by a 
great many. Of course at that matutinal houf 
only artists and their personal friends were present 
— the fashionable throng did not arrive till some 
hours later. Around us was Bohemia in its every 
aspect, from the well-to-do painter down to the 

134 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

slovenly, ill-dressed, unkempt " rapin," whose 
principal claim to artistic merit usually consists in 
the length of his hair, his generally disreputable 
appearance, and a large paint-box hung on his 
shoulder. Amongst this singular assemblage was 
a plentiful sprinkling of the fair sex — mostly pretty 
young girls, probably bonnes amies or models; 
no gathering of French artists could be representa- 
tive otherwise — and these were as outre in appear- 
ance as their cavahers. One could almost fancy 
one recognised in the crowd our old friends, Mimi 
Pinson and Musette, whilst surely Rodolphe and 
Schaunard were also there in the flesh. It was 
indeed a curious scene, and over all was an air of 
enthusiasm and gaiety in the bright early morning 
sunshine, with all around radiant in the warmth of 
spring. It made an unforgettable impression on 
me, for I was only twenty-one at the time. 

The doors opened at last, and after exchanging 
my Vernissage for an exhibitor's ticket — (how 
proud I felt when I signed my name on it) — we 
made our way upstairs to the galleries. Then 
began a wearisome search, for the catalogue was 
not ready, and there did not seem at first any 
method in the arrangement of the endless rooms. 
Everyone was rushing about hither and thither, 
apparently in the same aimless fashion. I felt so 
pleased at having been hung at all that I did not 
dare to look for my picture anywhere but in the 
worst and highest positions — not venturing to hope 

135 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

for anything better, and Monsieur Thomas appar- 
ently agreed with me. 

All of a sudden he gave an exclamation of 
surprise and delight — for there was his portrait 
not only on the line but in the very centre of a 
room also. It could not possibly have been placed 
in a better position. 

Turning to me he gripped me by the arm with his 
strong hand and said, " Hon cher JuHus, je te fais 
mes sinceres compliments, tu as bien merite d'etre 
si bien place," and I fancied I noticed a tremor 
in his honest voice. From that moment I remem- 
ber everything appeared to me as though through 
a rose-coloured mist. It was the happiest day in 
my life. Then full of kindly feelings towards the 
world in general, vv^e made a tour of the galleries. 
By the time we had done this the smart people 
were beginning to arrive, and the rooms getting 
crowded ; there was a frou-frou of silk and the 
odour of perfume. On all sides one heard the 
buzz of voices, friends greeting each other with 
congratulations. " Mais il est epatant ton tableau, 
mon vieux," and so forth ; the air positively reeked 
with compliments. Everyone seemed pleased to 
see everyone else. There was an atmosphere of 
gaiety such as I had never been in before, I 
thought — but that was of course because I was on 
the line, and so happy. And then we went and 
had another look at my picture and met Monsieur 
Yvon close by, and he told Monsieur Thomas that 

136 




MV FIRST KXMIBITEU PICTURE. PORTRAIT OF MONSIEUR I. 
PARIS SALON, 1881. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

it was " etonnant comme resemblance et d'un 
grand merite." 

It was now about time to think of dejeuner, also 
an important affair on this occasion. Monsieur 
Thomas had read that everyone went to Ledoyens, 
so there, as he put it, we must go — " il n'y avait 
pas a hesiter — il f aut etre dans le mouvement " — 
and as our tickets would readmit us after lunch, 
to Ledoyens we went. Ledoyens has not changed 
architecturally since those days, but it has had to 
bear the brunt of competition, and is no longer 
considered the fashionable place it then was. At 
the time of which I am writing it was quite the 
smartest restaurant on the Champs Elysees, and 
so crowded a I'heure du dejeuner on the Vernissage 
that it was difficult to find a table as a rule. 

Monsieur Thomas was, as I have said, a man of 
magnificent presence, and somehow always im- 
pressed maitres d'hotel — so in spite of the crowd 
and " not a table to be had," we were soon com- 
fortably seated where we could see everyone. 
" Truite saumonee sauce verte, du canneton aux 
petits pois des asperges a I'huile, des fraises, avec 
une bonne bouteille de Graves, 9a te va t'il, mon 
vieux Julius?" he asked after consultation with 
the obsequious head-waiter. What could one 
desire better? And whilst doing justice to all 
these good things, we gazed on the wonderful 
crowd around us and wondered who they all were, 
and Monsieur Thomas fancied he recognised such 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

or such a celebrity, and pointed him or her out to 
jne — and probably was wrong ; but I didn't know, 
so it didn't matter, and we both agreed that all the 
prettiest women in Paris must be there. 

After our coffee and a cigarette, we returned to 
the Salon, where it was then the fashion to spend 
an hour or so in the Sculpture Hall after lunch to 
look, not at the statues, but at the famous people 
present, and the latest fashions as displayed by the 
smartly dressed women on all sides. It was indeed 
a wonderful scene to my youthful eyes. When 
we left at about four o'clock Monsieur Thomas 
remarked that it was too late for him to return to 
his bureau, so that we might as well make a day 
of it whilst we were about it. So he hailed a fiacre 
and we drove to the Bois and had a bock at the 
Cascade, where it was delightfully cool after the 
stuffy atmosphere of the Salon. We then returned 
to the Rue de Reuilly and dined out in the garden, 
and he recounted my success and all we had been 
doing since the morning ; and Madame Thomas 
told me she felt as pleased as if I were her 
own son. 

When I got back to my little room in the 
Rue de la Rochefoucauld I felt as though I had 
passed a day in fairyland, and wished it could all 
happen over again. 



138 



CHAPTER XII 

I move to the Rue Fontaine St Georges— I am commissioned 
to paint the portrait of Madame Thomas — Buying more 
furniture — A house-warming — Amusing jeu d'esprit — I 
take a studio with a friend — The Passage Lathuille — A 
bad neighbourhood — Low rental — Studio furniture — Lady 
visitors — Impromptu lunches — The amateur model — An 
amusing experience — Attractive personality of the average 
female model — " Wrong uns " — Earnings of models — 
Faux manages — Long " collages " — Cat-and-dog exist- 
ence — Middle-aged ex-models — The morals of the ancienne 
cocotte — How a collage usually oommences — An artistic 
anecdote — Coolness of Frenchmen nowadays — An incident 
in a caf^ — Mon amie in the Rue Frochot — Laughable 
incident — A lapse of memory. 

I HAD now been at the Rue de la Rochefoucauld 
about a year when a friend who had a small apparte- 
ment de garcon in the Rue Fontaine St Georges 
just round the corner asked me if I would take it 
off his hands. It was so much more convenient 
in every way than my one room, and, above all, 
so cheap that I jumped at the chance of having a 
real apartment all to myself. It would seem like 
getting on, anyway, I said to myself, as an excuse 
for my extravagance. So I took it and moved in. 
Monsieur Thomas, to still further encourage me, 
539 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

commissioned me to paint Madame's portrait as 
a pendant to his own, so I felt quite arrive. Up 
till then I had had very little in the way of furniture 
of my own, so this commande was more particularly 
acceptable as it enabled me to increase my meagre 
stock of household goods and chattels. There 
were lots of marchands de bibelots round about 
the Boulevard de Clichy, where I managed 
to pick up quite a lot of artistic odds and ends ; 
so my rooms looked quite well filled when 
I had finished. And as I was only paying 
four pounds a year more rent I had reason 
to feel satisfied with my bargain. I gave a sort 
of house-warming, I remember — and found when 
my friends turned up I was short of glasses, so 
had to borrow some from the concierge. 

Not having sufficient chairs didn't so much 
matter, as one could always sit on the floor. 
Mentioning chairs reminds me of a very amusing 
jeu d'esprit. I had got to know une dame mariee 
just about the time I moved into the Rue Fontaine, 
and after a lot of persuasion she agreed to come 
and fetch me one evening at my rooms instead 
of meeting me at the corner of the street. At 
lunch that day I casually asked an artist friend — 
who was always looked upon as a Don Juan, so 
many adventures was he supposed to have on 
hand — what he would advise me to do with her, 
since she really was a married woman ; meaning, 
of course, whether to take her to a cafe concert 

140 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

or to dinner or to supper. It was doubtless a 
stupid thing to ask him at all, but I wanted also to 
let him see that he was not the only lady-killer in 
Montmartre. He leaned on the table, and stroking 
his moustache reflectively, repHed after a pause, 
" Is it the first time this belle dame is visiting 
you?" 

" Yes, of course," I replied unguardedly. 

" Then in that case," he rejoined gravely, " I 
should advise you before she arrives to put some- 
thing on every chair — books, hats, anything." 

" What on earth for ? " I exclaimed. 

" Parce que alors mon cher elle sera forcee de 
s'asseoir sur le lit." 

I stared at him for a moment, and then it dawned 
on me that either he was pulling my leg, or had 
misconstrued my query. 

Not long after I had settled down in the Rue 
Fontaine a friend suggested my sharing with him 
a studio he felt like taking close to the Place 
Clichy. From what he told me it struck me as 
being a bargain, and as I wanted some place where 
I could paint a picture for the following year, I 
said I would go with him to see it and think it over. 
It was situated in a narrow, tortuous-like alley 
leading from the Boulevard to the Avenue de 
Clichy — named the Passage Lathuille, and was one 
of the queerest places imaginable. Though lead- 
ing directly from two very busy thoroughfares, it 
was as ill-paved and as quiet as a street in a small 

141 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

provincial town; at night so badly lighted and 
so deserted as to suggest the possibility of any 
crime being committed in its dark purlieus with 
comparative impunity. Short cut though it is, I 
fancy that even nowadays most people would 
prefer to avoid it late at night, for the neighbour- 
hood has an unsavoury reputation. 

So far as the cheapness of the atelier in ques- 
tion was concerned, there was nothing to be said 
against it, for it was only fifteen pounds a year. 
One couldn't well expect a studio for less — but 
there was nothing attractive about it, and the 
neighbourhood was particularly squalid. Still it 
was an atelier and it had been built as such. It 
was on the ground floor of a very old house and 
the door opened on to the courtyard ; there was 
only the studio and a small lumber closet which 
could be used as a cabinet de toilette. Well, I 
decided to share it with him, so we took it at once. 
He had a lot of odds and ends in the way of 
furniture, bits of tapestry, old chairs, and cup- 
boards, and such like. I bought some studio 
rubbish such as pewter plates, a few old casts, an 
easel, and so forth, and these, with heaps of can- 
vases we had, made the place look really quite 
cheerful. I am sure that we both felt that it was 
now only a question of time and then we should 
be moving to the Boulevard itself. 

He was a painter of " Nature morte," and I aimed 
at portraiture, so our work did not clash. We got 

.142 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

on very well together, as our temperaments and 
tastes were very similar, and we were both ardent 
admirers at the shrine of feminine beauty. 

Now the studio, small and unpretentious as it 
was, had been occupied before we took it by a 
painter who was very fond of the fair sex, or else 
was constantly employing models — judging from 
the number of good-looking girls who called 
during the first few weeks to ask after him. As 
we didn't know him, and he had not left any 
address, of course the very least we could do, as 
gallant young men, was to invite them in, and do 
our best to console them for his departure — usually 
not an over-difhcult task. Many a delightful 
impromptu dejeuner did we thus owe to the popu- 
larity of our predecessor. There was a very good 
charcutier in the avenue close by, where the 
galantine was excellent ; also an epicier, who sold 
a wonderful vin blanc at fifty cents le litre (bottle 
included). We managed, therefore, to get a good 
deal of fun as well as work, one way and another, 
out of the studio — and the great charm of it was 
that it was generally a I'improviste. One could 
never tell when something amusing might turn up. 

I remember one instance in particular, which 
will bear recounting, as it was the only experience 
of the kind I ever had whilst in Paris. My friend 
was away in the country staying with his people, 
and I was pottering about alone in the studio one 
afternoon. It was not an over-cheerful place when 

143 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

one had it all to oneself, as there was no look-out 
whatever — and I was pondering whether I would 
go round to the cafe and have my aperitif when 
there came a timid knock at the door. " Entrez," 
I called out, only too glad of a visitor. There 
was a moment's pause — then the door opened and 
a young woman entered. From her diffident 
manner I saw at once she was not a model, or a 
friend of our predecessor. She might have been 
a girl from a small shop judging from her very 
plain and homely attire. 

"Que voulez-vous, Mademoiselle?" I asked, 
noting her evident embarrassment. 

With much hesitation she then to my surprise 
explained that she wanted to become a model. 

" A model for what ? " I replied thoughtlessly — 
for she had no pretension whatever to beauty; in 
fact, she was a very plain and commonplace- 
looking girl. 

" I've been told I've got a good figure. Mon- 
sieur," she nervously answered, and then she 
continued with sudden volubility that she came 
from Amiens, was only nineteen, had been em- 
ployed as a bonne up till now, but that she didn't 
like the work, and didn't want to go back to the 
country again ; and someone had told her she could 
earn quite a lot of money as a model — and that's 
why she had knocked at my door. The concierge 
had told her I used models. 

I was for a moment sorry for the stupid girl, 
144 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

as I could see at a glance that she was no earthly 
good as a figure model. Someone had evidently 
been poking fun at her — and I was about to tell 
her that I was not in want of anyone for the 
moment, when a devilish idea of a joke flashed 
through my mind. 

"Well, Mademoiselle," I said, after a pause, 
" of course I cannot give you sittings without 
seeing your figure first; it's impossible to judge 
what it's like with all your clothes on. Please 
undress and let's have a look at it." 

" Oh, Monsieur," she replied with renewed em- 
barrassment, " I have never done so before — I 
don't Hke to." 

" Well, do as you please," I replied, " but if 
you want to become a model you must not have 
any false modesty. However, don't worry about 
it to-day ; come and see me again some other time." 

She was on the point of going and had her hand 
on the door when she suddenly appeared to make 
up her mind, and, coming back, she blurted out, 
" I'll show it you now, since I'm here — but where 
shall I undress ; not here in the studio before 
you." 

" Oh you can manage in there, no doubt," said 
I nonchalantly, indicating the lumber closet. 

She went in and was an unconscionable time, 
I thought, so I called out, " Please come along 
when you're ready — don't be shy. I'm not going 
to eat you." 

143 K 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

With a sort of nervous giggle, she then 
appeared in a long white shift of some coarse 
material such as I imagine peasants wear, and 
stood irresolute before me where I sat at my 
easel. 

" Allons," I said in a friendly tone to encourage 
her, for she was trembling painfully, " you'll have 
to take that off also." 

With much hesitation she let it fall off one 
shoulder, then off the other, till at last, as if with 
a great effort, she let it drop and stood before me 
in puris naturalibus. A glance was sufficient to 
confirm what I had surmised, that she would not 
be the slightest use as a model. Had it not been 
for the tale she had pitched me and the fuss she 
had made about undressing, I should not have 
looked at her twice. However, for form's sake, 
I told her to take a pose or two, which she did 
with about as much grace and elegance as a young 
elephant. Then I said, " Thank you, you can 
put on your things again." 

She did not require to be told twice ; she made 
a snatch at her garment and rushed back into the 
lumber-room. She was far quicker dressing than 
undressing, and soon reappeared, looking very hot 
and untidy — but she had quite recovered her 
composure. 

"Will I do for you, Monsieur? " she asked with 
a flippant smile as she fixed on her hat. 

Her manner irritated me. She was no longer the 
146 




"stood IRRKSOLUTE before me where I SAT AT MV EASEL." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

demure little person that had entered the studio 
a few minutes previously. I simply could not 
resist the temptation to carry out my joke. 

" Well," I repHed gravely, " if Mademoiselle 
will leave her address with me I will give it to my 
master on his return." 

She stood as if transfixed. " Your master on 
his return," she repeated. " What ! aren't you the 
artist?" 

" No, I'm only his valet," I repHed ; " but that 
doesn't matter. I will make a report on your 
beautiful figure to him." 

" Oh, you wretch," she exclaimed with rage ; 
" and to think that I undressed before you." 

She was about to create a scene and start 
abusing me when at this moment there was a 
knock at the studio door. Who could it be ? 

" Attendez ici un instant," I said to the girl. 
" Voila du monde qui arrive." 

Going out I found a friend of mine, not an artist 
— as a matter of fact he was on the Bourse. 

" I hope I am not disturbing you," he said with 
a significant laugh, for he evidently had heard the 
girl's voice. 

A positive inspiration came to me ; so, in a 
few words, I hastily told him what had happened, 
and asked if he would like to have a good joke, 
and follow it up by pretending he was my master. 

He entered into the spirit of the idea at once. 
" All right," he said, " I'll do it, and I bet I'll get 

147 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

her to show me her figure also, if you give me 
time." 

So I arranged that I would go and wait for him 
at the cafe at the corner for half an hour. It was 
nearer an hour and a half before he turned up. 
He looked somewhat dishevelled. 

" I'm simply bursting for a drink," he said. 
" What a hot afternoon, and such an adventure, mon 
vieux." Then seeing that I expected some details, 
he added, " Mais elle n'etait pas si mal que cela 
cette jeune fille." He wouldn't tell me any more, 
and I never saw her again. 

As a rule I found the average model — I refer 
to the female ones — a very sympathetic and attrac- 
tive personality, who actually took an intelligent 
interest in your work if she liked you. There are, 
of course, " wrong uns," as one would find in any 
calling — women who were simply nothing more or 
less than " des grues " — who would be found in the 
low cafes and brasseries on the Boulevard's ex- 
terieurs, who exercised two professions, one by day 
and the other by night. Of these I have nothing 
to say — but the modele serieux, if she had any 
pretension to good-looks or beaute du corps, could 
always find work if she stuck to it, and could easily 
earn her three hundred francs a month. 

Unfortunately — if one can put it so — the atmo- 
sphere of France seems to lend itself to romance 
and the entente, or sympathy, or what one will, 
which so often exists between artist and model, 

148 





A VERY SYMPATHETIC AND ATTRACTIVE PERSOXALITV. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

frequently in Paris takes a serious and lasting 
form. A slight penchant or a dog-in-the-manger 
desire to keep her entirely to himself ends eventu- 
ally by his persuading her to become his mistress 
et de se mettre en menage ensemble. 

In the cafes mostly frequented by artists round 
Montmartre — the Cafe de la Rochefoucauld, of 
course, excepted — one saw many of these faux 
menages, happy enough no doubt so long as the 
woman retained her good-looks, but afterwards 
often developing into a cat-and-dog existence as 
her middle age approached. To me these " col- 
lages " always appeared pathetic ; it seemed such a 
pity that a man beyond the prime of life, and with a 
reputation, should live in this ambiguous and un- 
dignified fashion ; when arrived at an age when his 
position almost demanded a certain pose, he should 
be under the thumb of a woman whom he had 
rescued perhaps from the streets, and who had 
never anything but her looks to recommend 
her when young — for these middle-aged passee 
ex-model maitresses become more and more 
exigeante as time goes on. 

In some cases, artists I knew — men of standing 
— had married their maitresses, and this, with 
scarcely an exception, turned out disastrously for 
the man. It was merely exchanging one's fetters of 
one's own free will without the slightest material ad- 
vantage — except for the woman. It may be replied 
that the women had given up the best years of their 

149 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

lives while living with these men. Soit! but it 
was generally done with their eyes wide open ; 
they knew their men, and it was usually with but 
one object in view — a certain aisance, or perhaps 
marriage, in their middle age. Moreover, it was, 
as far as I could see, only when they got passees 
that they were really faithful to their amants, and 
that their virtue became unassailable. Never was 
there truer an axiom than :" II n'y a pas de vertue 
plus severe que celle de I'ancienne cocotte." When 
still endowed with youth and beauty they seldom 
had any compunction en faisant des petites queues, 
when the opportunity presented itself, as it often 
would. 

Although in all these sordid affairs one was 
constantly being reminded of La Rochefoucauld's 
aphorism that " Everything is reducible to the 
motive of self-mterest " it often appeared to me 
that conceit on the part of the man was the initial 
cause of many of these miserable collages. A 
middle-aged man by some accident came across an 
exceptionally good-looking girl ; whether he picked 
her up in the street or was introduced didn't 
matter. She took a fancy to him. All his friends 
must imtmediately know of — well, say — his good- 
fortune. " Une beaute mon cher je te la ferai 
voir," he would tell them confidentially. Then he 
would bring her to his cafe. If she really was 
something quite out of the common, his pals, 
middle-aged men like himself, would leer at her, 

ISO 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

pay her compliments which would turn her silly 
head ; they would tell him she was " ravissante 
mon cher — quel chan^ard que tu es," and the 
mischief was done. His vanity was tickled, and 
if his means allowed it, he would henceforth make 
her his maitresse — and then she would be his 
alone, as the poor fool would imagine. After which, 
if the collage continued long enough, it would 
develop gradually into another of these faux 
menages I have described — which must not, of 
course, be confounded with the charming little 
" liaisons " amongst students and petites ouvrieres 
in the Quartier Latin. These collages were, as far 
as I could judge, generally confined to the artists, 
sculptors, and musicians who lived in the district — 
doubtless owing to the Bohemian existence attach- 
ing to their professions. 

Talking of models, there was a story told of an 
artist who had just moved into a studio on the 
Avenue de Villiers. Every morning he used to 
take a constitutional, and on several occasions he 
had met a very beautiful woman, who apparently 
lived a few doors away from him. He was so 
struck with her that he used to make a point of 
always going for his stroll at the same hour on the 
chance of meeting her, although she had not given 
him the slightest indication of desiring to make his 
acquaintance. This went on for some days, till 
at last she gave him a glance, the meaning of 
which was unmistakable, so the next morning he 

151 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

purchased a large bouquet of flowers, and waited. 
She came out as usual, and as she did so, he went 
up to her, and raising his hat, he asked her accept- 
ance of the flowers — at the same time telling her 
how long he had admired her from a distance, and 
how much he would like to paint her ; and ended by 
asking her if she would come and sit for him. She 
said nothing in reply to all this, but when he had 
finished she went back into her doorway and blew 
a small whistle she carried on a chain. A man- 
servant appeared. "Jean," she said, "put Mon- 
sieur's name on my hst." 

We hear a great deal nowadays of Frenchmen 
having lost a lot of their old excitability. Even 
in those far-off days of which I write I found that 
on occasions the Parisian, as well as the Parisienne, 
could under provocation be cool enough to make 
me feel very hot. One instance in particular 
comes to my mind. I found myself one night in 
an enterprising mood seated at a cafe next to a 
very charming little lady who was in the company 
of a middle-aged man. In the conceit of my 
youth I magnified to myself what was probably 
but a very casual glance into a desire on her part 
to love me for myself alone. To tear a leaf out 
of my sketch-book and scrawl a hurried line thereon 
was the work of but a moment. Another moment 
and I had managed to let her see it, and pushed 
it along the seat into her hand. Swifter still the 
denouement! To my horror, I saw my billet- 

152 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

doux handed to her attendant cavaUer, who read 
it as calmly as if it had been the wine list, and 
then tearing it carefully into four pieces, handed 
it back to me in full view of the whole cafe — with 
an exaggerated gesture of politeness, more wither- 
ing than the most studied verbal insult. I had 
asked for it and got it, and there being no reply 
possible, I suddenly remembered an important 
appointment outside. It is many years ago, but 
I tingle all over when I recall my very poor attempt 
at a dignified exit. 

At about this time a very good-looking lady who 
was living in the Rue Frochot under the protec- 
tion of a wealthy but aged gentleman honoured 
me with her affection — and would often come and 
sit for me when I wanted a model, and in return 
for this kindness on her part, when she sent round 
word to me to say she felt lonely as her guardian 
was away, I would go round and do my best to 
cheer her up of an evening for a few hours. And 
as I was young and full of spirits I generally suc- 
ceeded. She had a nice apartment on the ground 
floor with windows on the street, a very quiet one, 
and I was pretty agile in those days, so there was 
no need to ring the house bell when the hall door 
was closed at night, which was very fortunate, as in 
her residence, Hke in many others in the eccentric 
quarters of Paris, if one was not known one had to 
call out to the concierge the name of the person 
you were visiting, if it was after dark. 

153 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

By the way, this pecuHar custom was the cause 
of a most irritating, though laughable incident 
that happened to me late one night not far from 
where I lived. A beauteous dame had invited me 
to call on her, but as she had an engagement for 
supper she asked me to defer my visit till her 
return in the early hours of the morning — not 
an unusual time for a call in Montmartre, So 
I went to keep the appointment — rang the bell — 
the door opened, and as it was pitch dark inside 
I lit a match and started groping my way upstairs, 
for she had told me her apartment was situated 
on the fourth floor. I had scarcely gone a dozen 
steps when the concierge came out of his room 
holding a lamp. " Who's that ? " he called out. 

" Someone for the lady on the fourth floor," I 
replied. 

" What's the name of the lady you are going 
to see. Monsieur.?" he called out again. 

At that moment my memory played me a trick 
it has occasionally served me since, but never 
under such awkward circumstances. For the life 
of me I could not recollect her name. I tried all 
I could to remember it quickly, as there was no 
time to spare — but to no effect. The concierge 
hurried up to where I was standing. 

"Who are you going to visit.?" he repeated 
roughly this time — and holding up the lamp to 
see me better. 

I thought it perhaps best to treat it as a joke. 
154 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

" To tell you the truth," I said, with a sickly 
attempt at a laugh, " I've clean forgotten her 
name." 

" Oh, that's it, is it," he exclaimed ; " then if you 
don't know who you want to see you must come 
down again and get out quick." 

I saw it was useless arguing with him, as he 
might have called for the police and created a 
scene, so down I returned very sheepishly. 

" I am sorry you don't believe me, but I will 
return to-morrow and prove to you what I say is 
true," I said as I went out. For all reply he 
slammed the door in my face. 

I went and sat in a cafe and racked my memory, 
hoping her name would come back to me so that 
I could write and explain — but it was no use. I 
never remembered it again. A few days later we 
met by accident, and I was on the point of speaking 
to her, but she gave me a look that froze me up. 
I had a good deal of nerve, but after that I did not 
dare to go up to her and say the reason I had not 
kept the appointment was because I had forgotten 
her name. 



155 



CHAPTER XIII 

The Bal des Quatz Arts— Difficulty of obtaining ticket— My 
costume — Rendezvous at caf6 — Indelicate costumes of 
ladies — Starting for the Elys^e Montmartre— Sergents de 
ville guarding entrance — Stringent precautions — Impres- 
sions of ballroom scene — Gorgeous costumes of men- 
Distinguished painters — Nude girls — Blatant indecency of 
diaphanous evening dresses — Extraordinary spectacle — 
Wild dancing and deafening music — I meet a little model 
— Her costume — Processions of diiferent ateliers — Wonder- 
ful effects — Supper served — The danse du ventre on one 
of the tables — No drunkenness a feature of the ball — Pro- 
cession of students to Quartier Latin in morning — Arrest 
of a nude girl in street — True hospitality. 

The Bal des Quatz Arts was at that time, as it is 
now, one of the great events of the year amongst 
the atehers of Paris. It is the Annual Carnival 
given by the Art students, and preparations for 
it are begun long before the date on which it is 
held. I had heard such a lot about it that I was 
looking forward to the evening with the excitement 
of a debutante going to her first dance — and the 
more especially as all my friends would be there, 
and a lot of pretty women we knew. My idea, 
however, of what the ball would be like was based 
somewhat on the descriptions I had read of the Bals 

156 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Costumes at the Opera House (where high-born, 
wealthy ladies go in masks and dominoes in search 
of intrigues with handsome but penniless artists). 
I imagined a huge crowd of people fantastically 
garbed, such as one would expect to see at any 
big fancy-dress ball in England, but with all 
the added verve and colour and gaiety which the 
French Art student would naturally impart. It 
would of course be a very beautiful and artistic 
scene, and many of the famous artists would doubt- 
less bring their wives and daughters to witness it 
My conception was rather wide of the mark — as 
will be gathered. 

Had I not seen for myself the Bal des Quatz 
Arts, I should never have beHeved that in modern 
times and in a great city such " revelry " would be 
possible, even in the name of Art. In my day the 
ball was held in the Elysee Montmartre, which for 
that night was closed to the public and given up 
entirely to the artists. To obtain a ticket, if you 
were entitled to it as an artist, or by reason of 
belonging to one of the big ateliers, was not a 
difficult matter, and the cost, including supper, as 
I will state later, infinitesimal ; but to anyone not 
so accredited it was more difficult to get in, so it 
used to be said, than to be invited to an official ball 
at the real Elysee. Millionaire Americans have 
been known to offer untold wealth for one of the 
coveted pasteboards, but to no effect. " We don't 
want rich men and we don't want their money ; this 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

is quite a private affair and we intend to keep it 
amongst our own set," was the usual reply. 

That, however, it was not a private affair or 
confined only to students and artists will be seen ; 
and to my certain knowledge many outsiders did 
manage to get tickets, if they were in the swim. 
As a bal d'etudiants, it was not precisely a small 
gathering though, as the number present usually 
ran well into four figures. Whilst every pre- 
caution was, however, taken to prevent tickets 
being sold to men who had no claim to being in 
the profession, there were no obstacles placed in 
the way of the fair sex obtaining admission either 
accompanied or alone, with the result that every 
pretty actress and every model, and also many 
well-known demi-mondaines would be present. 

I will endeavour to describe my impressions of 
the extraordinary scene as it appeared to me on 
the first occasion I went to one of these " balls," 
but I fear that even now, after the lapse of so 
many years, my stock of adjectives will be 
insufficient to depict in mere words the gorgeous 
spectacle and the galaxy of female beauty I saw 
around me. 

The never-to-be-forgotten evening started a 
couple of hours before the ball opened — as a whole 
party of us arranged to meet for an early supper 
at a cafe close by. It was a stringent rule of the 
ball committee that everyone had to wear fancy 
dress of some description, and no mere faking up 

158 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

of an old dress suit or eccentric everyday attire 
was admissible. I had decided, after much re- 
flection, that an Arab costume with burnous and 
turban would best suit my particular type of 
beauty, so in that I arrayed myself — staining my 
face and hands brown to give a sunburnt appear- 
ance, for I was nothing if not artistic in those days. 
On arriving at the cafe I found quite a little 
crowd assembled in a private room on the first 
floor. All my friends were there, and with them 
their petites amies and others — and I had my first 
impression of what the ball was going to be like. 
I shall never forget it. The men were in more or 
less fantastic garb, such as one would have 
exp-scted to see, but what at once riveted my 
attention was the attire of the ladies. Most of 
them were decolletees, if one could call it 
decolletee when their bosoms were completely 
exposed, and several had costumes on of so trans- 
parent a material as to scarcely leave anything to 
the imagination ; one could not imagine anything 
more suggestive. I must admit I fairly gasped 
when I looked around me — for we were crowded 
into a room of quite moderate size. No one, 
however, seemed to take any notice of all this 
indecency, so I regained my composure and shook 
hands all round as calmly as though it had been 
a reception and it was quite usual for the ladies 
to be so shghtly attired. I must confess, though, 
that there were one or two very pretty women 

159 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

present I had long admired at a distance — habillees 
bien entendu — and it was not altogether unpleasant 
to regale one's eyes on the vision of their now 
revealed charms, and I did not stint myself either. 

Well, after a lot of badinage and having some- 
thing to eat, for supper would not be served at 
the ball till the early hours of the morning, it was 
at last time to go to the Elysee as there was 
no admittance after a certain hour. The ladies 
donned long cloaks to hide their nudity from the 
public gaze, and we all started. Outside the cafe 
the Boulevard was packed with people anxious to 
get a glimpse of the deshabille of the ladies ; 
and as it was a fine warm spring evening they were 
frequently rewarded for their patience — as here 
and there a pair of dainty bare legs or a snowy 
neck and shoulders passed through. Whilst 
occasionally some particularly original costume 
would draw cheers or caustic remarks from the 
crowd, which was very good-humoured, and 
evidently quite prepared for all this artistic 
eccentricity. 

The actual entrance to the building was barred 
by a double row of sergents de ville, so no one 
not in costume could approach too closely ; and at 
the door was a group of officials who would not 
admit anyone without his or her ticket being pro- 
duced. And this was not all — for again, and before 
one could penetrate into the actual interior, one's 
ticket had to be submitted to the scrutiny of yet 

t6o 




AS HERE AND THERE A PAIR OF BARE LEGS OR A SXOWV NECK 
AND SHOULDERS PASSED THROUGH." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

another line of officials who examined them closely, 
probably for fear of any imitation ones being 
passed ; and then tearing off a corner, which they 
retained, you were at length allowed to pass in. 
All this of course took time and was rather trying 
to one's patience, but it was all taken good- 
naturedly, for everyone was in the gayest spirits. 

At last I found myself in the big dancing hall, 
and the scene I had before me was certainly the 
most extraordinary that could be imagined. I 
had formed, as I have said, some idea in my mind 
as to what a French costume ball would be like, 
but never could I have conjured up such a vision, 
such a kaleidoscope of colour and animation as 
met my eyes. Dancing was not in progress for 
the moment, and the floor was crowded with every 
conceivable costume of the world, ancient and 
modern, from the Stone Age to the Revolution 
of '48 ; the men's costumes being especially mag- 
nificent, and in many instances, I noted at once, 
were carried out with a regard for detail which 
was a sure indication of the artist. 

There was an entire absence of the ordinary 
costumier's costumes hired out for the evening 
one always sees at fancy-dress balls. Military uni- 
forms, and the garb of bygone ages, were worn 
by men who had evidently made a study of the 
particular period ; so the effect was that of a repro- 
duction of a fine picture. Distinguished painters 
I knew by sight, were actually in costumes 

161 L 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

representing their own masterpieces — all that, how- 
ever, was to me the least interesting portion of the 
immense concourse. 

The costumes, or rather what there was of them, 
of the fair sex must needs be described ; and how 
to find words baffles me. I was somewhat pre- 
pared from what I had already seen at the cafe for 
decolletee corsages and scanty attire, but all that 
was quite eclipsed by what I now saw — for 
numbers of the girls were, with the exception of 
a pair of slippers, in a state of absolute nudity, 
and walking about among the crowd shaking hands 
here and there with friends as unconcernedly as 
though there was nothing incongruous in their 
appearance. Of course most of them were models 
and several had exquisite figures, so the effect when 
one got over the first shock of surprise was delight- 
ful — for it may be mentioned that only those with 
perfect shapes were to be seen thus unattired. 
They knew that no costume they could afford 
could be more beautiful than their own natural 
loveliness. 

When I had got over my bewilderment a little, 
I managed to look round at those who were wear- 
ing some sort of costume, only to find that the 
prevailing note, however beautiful the conception, 
was generally indelicacy in some form or other; 
not coarse blatant indecency, but of a distinctly 
original kind. Still it was amazing. Lovely 
women could be seen walking round on the arai 

162 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

of perhaps some magnificent Napoleonic caval- 
ryman; at first sight they would appear to be 
wearing ordinary black evening dress, extremely 
decolletee of course — but as they approached you 
noticed that the skirt consisted of only one 
thickness of tulle or lace or whatever material it 
might be to match the bodice, and that they 
had nothing whatever on underneath — not even 
pantalons. So that every part of their form from 
the waist downwards v.^as completely visible 
through the transparency of the skirt. 

For unabashed indecency I have never seen 
anything since to equal those diaphanous evening 
dresses ; they were chefs-d'oeuvre of immodesty — 
the nude women were quite commonplace in com- 
parison. After a time many of these ladies would 
find their skirts incommoded them for dancing, 
and would pick them up and hold them over their 
arms in the usual manner of an ordinary ballroom 
— ^with a result that can be better imagined than 
described. One would not have been the least 
surprised at such " costumes " and abandon had 
one been at a fete in a brothel, but they came as 
a bit of a shock at a ball given by Art students. 
The music was of a deafening character, but calcu- 
lated to encourage wild dancing; and it did, to 
say the least of it. 

Absorbed in my contemplation of the extra- 
ordinary scene, I had missed my friends and was 
quite alone when suddenly I heard a female voice 

163 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

say to me, " A quoi revons nous, Monsieur 
I'Anglais," and turning round to see who it was 
had recognised me through my disguise, I saw a 
Httle model I knew shghtly, through meeting her 
in the Quartier — akhough I had hardly spoken a 
dozen words to her. I had always thought she 
was rather a pretty girl, but as I now saw her she 
was one of the most charming and piquant figures 
imaginable. She might have been one of Grevin's 
sketches come to life. For costume she had on 
a large square piece of white satin with letters 
painted on it to give you the idea that it was a 
" Petit Journal," with a hole torn in it for her 
pretty head to pass through. This and a pair of 
white shoes completed her attire. The shghtest 
movement displayed her nude form, as the satin 
was only the width of the small newspaper in 
question. It was delightfully original, and many 
men crowded round to admire it, as she had only 
just arrived. 

" Vous etes done tout seul ? " she asked after I 
had complimented her on her costume, which she 
told me she had designed herself. 

I explained how I had somehow missed the 
friends I had come with, then : 

" Donnez-moi votre bras et faisons un tour," 
she said with the easy familiarity of Bohemia. 

I was only too pleased — for it was somewhat 
tiring standing about alone. So through the 
crowd we went together ; she clinging to my arm 

164 




"those diaphaxous evening dresses. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

as though we were old friends. I soon discovered 
that she was quite a typical little Parisienne of 
her class, and full of fun and intelligence, so I felt 
it was a bit of luck to have met her — as in fact it 
turned out. We were walking round when I came 
across one of the men of my party. 

" Tiens vous voila deja colle," he remarked 
chaffingly, noticing how she was hanging on 
my arm. 

" Pour cette nuit au moins," she repHed in the 
same vein as we passed on. 

As the night went on various interesting pro- 
ceedings took place. There were processions 
through the hall of the different ateliers — each 
group representing the work of the maitre. Some 
were mediaeval, others prehistoric, others Egyptian, 
and so forth — most magnificently and realistically 
arranged and costumed, or rather uncostumed; 
whilst for stage management they could not have 
been surpassed — and all went off without a hitch. 
In one especially where a wagon drawn by two 
huge oxen passed through the hall there was no 
difficulty whatever with the unwieldy brutes, and 
vehicle, horses, donkeys, and dogs also took part 
with wonderful effect. 

But even in these processions the nude was ever 
present, and no opportunity missed of displaying 
some beautiful female form. The compositions 
were always chosen with that in view — evidently. 
I remember two groups that impressed me particu- 

165 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

larly — one a sort of scene of the Inquisition, a 
lovely nude woman on the rack surrounded by 
hooded figures — the ivory white of her flesh against 
the sombre hues of the men's dress standing out 
in startling relief. The other was Egyptian — a 
magnificent woman, entirely nude of course, reclin- 
ing on rich silk cushions on a sort of dais under 
a canopy, carried on bamboo poles by Ethiopians, 
and preceded by a group of nude slaves dancing 
and beating cymbals. It was a dream of the days 
of Cleopatra, and could not have been better 
staged anywhere. 

In one corner of the hall one of the ateliers had 
erected a big booth representing an Eastern slave 
market. The slave-dealer, dressed in tiger skins 
and carrying a heavy whip, paraded his wares in 
the shape of a dozen beautiful young girls entirely 
nude, and it was open to anyone to do a deal if they 
wanted a slave. It was very realistic and very 
tempting, and no doubt many men present would 
have liked to buy one or two. 

And so the night wore on, and one gradually 
got so satiated with the female form divine that 
at last one took scarcely any further notice of it. 
About three o'clock there was a big movement 
and a crowd of workmen appeared, bearing trestles 
and boards, and in a very short time long tables 
were put up all over the hall ; then white-aproned 
waiters came in with tablecloths, napkins, knives, 
and forks, and plates and glasses — and then with 

i66 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

baskets containing bread, and cold meats, poultry, 
bottles of wine, and everything for a simple though 
ample cold collation. Then with much shouting 
the various ateliers sorted themselves out and sat 
down at their respective tables. 

I had invited my little friend the model to have 
supper with me ; so I had no difficulty in getting 
a seat as she looked after all that, and we were soon 
merrily fixed up. As may be imagined, one did 
ample justice to the homely fare. Towards the 
end of the banquet there was a certain amount of 
good-humoured boisterous behaviour; but it was 
all very amusing from an artistic point of view, 
although it might have shocked a prude, especially 
when a nude young lady got up on one of the 
tables and gave us a danse du ventre most 
realistically, as may be imagined. 

But the night was long past — and one could 
note the daylight through the windows. Many 
little affectionate episodes, not usually enacted in 
public, could be witnessed around the tables as 
the hour for parting or otherwise approached. 
Lovely forms reclining on manly Roman chests — 
dainty Eastern princesses clinging to brawny 
Greek athletes — all combined to make up a picture 
of ribaldry which brought, I remember, to my 
mind the history of ancient Alexandria, and the 
stories one has read of the degenerate days of the 
Roman Empire, for it could not have been more 
debauched even in those times. 

J67 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Yet amongst all this crowd of revellers I did not 
see one single instance of drunkenness, and that 
was, I recollect, what struck me as being one 
of the most remarkable features of the ball. Had 
it been otherwise all its picturesque interest would 
have ceased to exist, and it would have been 
nothing but a licentious orgy. 

It had been broad daylight for some hours when 
it was over, and the crowd of tired and dishevelled 
revellers began to disperse ; but it was not finished 
yet. A procession of students and their lady 
friends who lived in the Quartier Latin formed up 
outside the Elysee, and to the accompaniment 
of a stirring chorus started on their homeward 
journey. The streets were already crowded with 
ouvriers on their way to their work, but the strange 
cortege did not seem to astonish them. They 
were used to such artistic vagaries, even to the 
spectacle of women in deshabille in the street, and 
in broad daylight. I learned afterwards that a girl- 
model in a state of absolute nudity was arrested at 
six o'clock that morning in the Rue Bonaparte! 

My newly found amie and I were however too 
tired after the night's excitement to take much 
further interest in the proceedings. She told me 
that she lived in the Avenue Trudaine, which was 
quite close by; so we walked across together, 
she the while clinging quite affectionately to my 
arm. We must have looked a curiously assorted 
couple. 

i68 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

On reaching her door, I was on the point of 
leaving her when she said hospitably: 

" Tu as ete tres-gentil — you can come up if you 
like." 

I hesitated, but only because of my Arab cos- 
tume ; then with ready perception she added — 
" Tu enverras ma femme de menage chercher tes 
vetements dans la journee." So I went up. 



169 



CHAPTER XIV 

Visit to the district of Fontainebleau — Marlotte — The village— 
The open-air painters — The village inn — The panels in 
the salle k manger — Painting everywhere— The forest — The 
main street — Food at the hotel — The petit vin — The table 
d'h6te — The people one met — Cheery crowd — Billiards — 
" Le jeu au bouchon " — O de Penne celebrated painter 
of sporting pictures — His maitresse — Their marriage — His 
house and bedroom — Ciceri, the landscape painter — His 
knowledge of women — " Her old man's day " — The daily 
routine in Marlotte — A new arrival — A radiant vision — The 
chic Parisienne — A new acquaintance — L'Inconnue— The 
commencement of a love story — Delightful days — A 
shock — The end of the romance. 

My success at the Salon had aroused in me an 
enthusiastic desire to " go one better " the follow- 
ing year. I was perhaps a trifle over-ambitious, 
but that was more satisfactory than being down- 
hearted ; it was, at any rate, a prerogative of youth 
to be buoyed up with hopes which, alas, were too 
often destined not to be realised. 

The weather was splendid; in those days, as 
far as I can recollect, it was always summer 
weather during the summer months — not like 
now. But I mustn't start grumbhng about the 
weather; it's doubtless I who have changed, not 

170 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

it. Well, to get on with my narrative, I decided 
to have an attempt at something serieux en plein 
air. My excursions with Stott in the neighbour- 
hood of Paris had given me a predilection for this 
style of work, so I thought I would go and see 
Fontainebleau and the country around. 

On mentioning my intention to some friends at 
the Rochefoucauld I found that one of them, a very 
distinguished painter of animal subjects, Monsieur 
O. de Penne, lived quite near to the forest, in a 
little village named Marlotte. He so extolled the 
beauty of the district and the simple life one lived 
there — and offered me, moreover, so genial 
a welcome at his place if I came down, that 
I decided one day to pack up my traps and go 
down and have a look round. Of course I took 
my sketching easel, paint-box, and some canvases 
with me, as in those days of enthusiasm one never 
went anywhere without one's working materials. 
Marlotte in those days was a very quaint little 
village, typically French, with practically only a 
single street. It was but a short distance from the 
railway station at Montigny — half a kilometre or 
thereabouts — so one put one's luggage in a cart 
and walked alongside. 

My first impressions on arriving were that the 
whole place existed only for artists. One seemed 
to see them everywhere ; as an American quaintly 
put it : " You couldn't expectorate without hitting 
one." Either painting or strolling about in the 

1171 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

weirdest of garbs, they were ubiquitous. There 
was no mistaking them — no one could have taken 
these unkempt individuals for anything but artists. 
Accustomed as I was to the eccentricity of attire of 
students at the Ecole, I was nevertheless amused at 
the grotesque appearance of many of these open-air 
painters. Whether this eccentricity was merely 
" pose " or part of the stock-in-trade of a landscape 
artist I was never able to really decide ; but it 
struck me, I remember, as a curious fact that 
personal cleanliness, not to mention smartness 
of appearance, were not evidently considered as 
necessary attributes for a French painter when 
working in the country. Perhaps they found 
they could commune more easily with nature if 
unwashed. I am of course talking of many years 
ago ; perhaps it is different nowadays. Still, very 
many of the worst-looking specimens were fine 
artists, so it didn't do to judge by appearances. 

There was only one inn at Marlotte at the time ; 
it was, however, quite worth a visit to Marlotte 
to spend a day or two in it even if one had not 
been a painter, for it was as quaint and ramshackle 
a place as could well be imagined, and almost 
picturesque in its way. Originally the "village 
pub," it had gradually — with the increasing 
clientele of artists — become quite an important 
hostelry for so small a hamlet ; and the raison 
d'etre of this growth was visible all over it. It 
existed only for and by artists, so the whole build- 

172 




EITHER PAINTING OR STROLLING ABOUT IN THE WEIRDEST OF GARBS. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

ing reflected this — primitive and cheaply con- 
structed though it was. The salle a manger walls 
were fitted with movable panels of various sizes, 
to encourage the locataires to present specimens 
of their work to the proprietor ; with the result that 
there was quite a collection of Works of Art of 
more or less merit adorning the room — several 
indeed by men who have since achieved fame. 
The effect was certainly very original, and com- 
pensated for its otherwise rough and unfinished 
appearance. Paint-boxes, easels, canvases, and 
other Art paraphernalia littered the place, so this 
" hotel " was practically a sort of lumber-room of 
the great atelier outside — the forest of Fontaine- 
bleau ; for there was nothing else to do at the 
place but paint. 

It did not take long to fall into the habits and 
customs of the place, which consisted chiefly in 
discarding at once one's collar and the getting into 
one's oldest clothes — then with sketch-box slung 
over shoulder and pipe in mouth one started off 
immediately for the foret. That was the magnet 
of the district — and instinctively one's footsteps 
led one thither. It was scarcely necessary to ask 
the way, for one had read so much about it and had 
seen it so often on canvas that it was almost like 
going to revisit one's old haunts. I remember I 
found my way the very first time to all the famous 
parts of the forest as easily as though I had 
been there many times before. Marlotte was very 

173 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

matutinal as everyone went out very early to start 
work, for the forest looked at its best before the 
sun was too high ; so the village was as a rule 
deserted during the morning except by those 
artists who had discovered beauty in its primitive 
streets or the surrounding lanes, and who therefore 
had their subject close at hand — and the inhabi- 
tants are so accustomed to artists that there was 
no difficulty in getting models if one required them. 

I remember also a notable feature of the place 
was that one could paint anywhere, even in the 
middle of the main street, without attracting any 
attention — even the children had lost all interest 
in so everyday an occurrence as a man seated 
under an umbrella in the broiling sun with a can- 
vas before him. Would that it had been likewise 
with the flies, for their interest in one's work never 
flagged. 

Dejeuner was at midday, and by that time the 
invigorating air of the forest had sufficiently 
sharpened one's appetite to enable anyone to do 
ample justice to the simple but wholesome meal 
we all sat down to. If I remember rightly we 
were charged six francs a day, which included our 
morning coffee and rolls and butter, table d'hote 
lunch, and dinner — including vin a discretion. The 
food was really very good, and there was plenty 
of it ; but the wine — even now it gives me a pecu- 
liar sensation in the jaws when I recall it. Not 
that it was bad — it was worse; but at the same 

174 



Jj 



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/ 



f h ' 



' If I \ i.. 



•v.-- > 



a_ 






J,M.? 



" b^4d>-u.jf JXfu^t--% 



FULL OF HIS OWN CON'CEIT. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

time not at all harmful. It was a petit vin du pays 
— very new, and like drinking vinegar. Till one 
got used to it the results were somewhat unpleasant 
for several days; after one got accustomed to it 
one could drink with impunity. They did not 
stint you with it at meal times, and you could have 
quarts of it if you were thirsty enough ; but at any 
other time they charged four sous for a small gl: 3, 
a rather curious anomaly. 

The people staying in the hotel were a curious, 
mixed-looking crowd, and one noticed this more 
particularly at lunch and dinner, as we all sat at 
one long table. There were all sorts and con- 
ditions — from the well-to-do French or English or 
American artist down to the young etudiant full of 
his own conceit. Of ladies there were generally a 
fair sprinkling, but as they were always attached 
and usually appeared to be in the various stages 
of honeymoon existence, they didn't offer much 
attraction to the lonely bachelor who was forced to 
be content with looking on. Still, it was usually 
a cheery gathering, as everyone soon got to know 
everyone else, and in the evening after dinner 
we managed to have some very amusing times ; in 
the billiard-room especially, where we used to play 
what was known as " le jeu au bouchon." A cork 
was placed in the centre of the table, and the game 
consisted in making as many cannons as possible 
without knocking it over. Every time it was hit 
the player had to place a sou on it — and the winner 

175 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

took the lot. All the ladies staying in the hotel, 
and many of the villagers, used to join in, as there 
was no limit to the number of players. Sunday 
evenings were especially lively, and the room 
would be crowded ; so if one was at all adept at 
the game one had a most appreciative audience. 
It was Bohemia in the country, and it did not lose 
by the change of scene ; the more especially as one 
got to bed early and got up early also. 

My friend, De Penne, was as good as his word, 
and introduced me to everybody in the place worth 
knowing ; so I felt I had struck a pleasant spot for 
work, and decided to put in a few weeks there. 
De Penne himself was quite a character — besides 
being a very distinguished and successful painter. 
Even down in this secluded village he retained 
the appearance of a boulevardier and vieux 
marcheur, and was quite the smartest-looking man 
for miles round ; perhaps it was because he always 
painted hunting subjects and dogs that he had the 
look of a genial sportsman rather than an artist. 

Although he lived en gargon in the village, he 
was very much the contrary in reality, as he had 
a mistress in Paris with whom he had lived on 
terms of the utmost comradeship, if one may use 
the words, for some years. I had often met her. 
She was a very charming and handsome woman — 
one of the habituees of the Cafe de la Rochefou- 
cauld. She used to come down to Marlotte 
and stay at his house for weeks at a time as hig 

176 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

ward, a feeble subterfuge which deceived no one 
but himself. Eventually they got married ; not 
from any compunction on his part, but simply, as 
he put it, because she was continually worrying 
him to do it — for then, as she explained, she could 
receive her friends, who would not visit her unless 
she was married. As most of the " friends " had 
been originally the maitresses of their husbands, 
it seemed somewhat exaggerated — the aloofness; 
but, as I have already remarked, there is no more 
strict a moralist than an ex-cocotte — as is well 
known. 

At last, therefore, he gave in, and they got 
married ; and when they returned to their flat from 
the church after the ceremony I am told that the 
concierge, who had known them for years, came 
out and congratulated them ; but added, Je ne 
vous souhaiterai pas le bonheur car vous I'avez 
deja" — which was quite true, for she was really a 
good sort and they had been very happy together. 

His house and atelier, as became a prosperous 
man, were also very characteristic. I remember, 
in particular, his bedroom was designed and 
furnished in the period of Henry IV. — with bed in 
alcove, rush mattress on the brick floor, huge tiled 
hearth, and peculiar old lamp ; two huge boar 
hounds used always to sleep alongside his bed, 
and the effect of this old-world chamber when one 
first saw it was most impressive. There was another 
well-known painter also Hving at Marlotte — 

177 M 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Ciceri, a very old man whose work was also 
much in demand at that time amongst the Paris 
marchands de tableaux. 

He was a tiny little man and his physique quite 
out of proportion to his reputation at the time. 
A curious characteristic of his, so it was said, 
was his conviction that he thoroughly understood 
women and how to manage them — and as he had 
been married three times there would perhaps 
have been some strength in his assertion had it 
not been for an amusing incident that had hap- 
pened shortly before I arrived in Marlotte. His 
femme en troisieme noces was a big brawny 
female quite twice his weight. To the surprise 
of the habitues of the billiard-room of the hotel, 
old Ciceri had not put in his usual appearance for 
a couple of days ; so someone was delegated to go 
to his house to ascertain if illness was the cause 
of his absence. He was shown into the ateher 
and found the old man hard at work, but with 
his face disfigured by a couple of bad black eyes. 
The visitor commiserated with him on his mis- 
fortune, and eventually asked how it had come 
about ; whereat Ciceri began to explain with much 
volubility that he had been moving some pictures 
and had struck his head against the corner of the 
armoire, and was proceeding to give further details 
when a door leading into an adjoining room opened 
slowly and a muscular arm and clenched fist were 
thrust forth — ^whilst at the same time a strident 

178 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

female voice vociferated, " Le voila le coin de 
rarmoire." 

Talking of old men reminds me of another rather 
funny story they used to tell about a certain very 
distinguished painter in Marlotte. I will not give 
his name as he is still alive. He was then about 
seventy-two years of age, but still fancied himself 
with the ladies. One night after dinner with two 
of his bachelor friends he said to them, " Come 
round and see my petite amie, she'll be delighted." 
When they got to the house there was a light in 
the window. " What a nuisance ! " he exclaimed. 
" We shan't be able to go in ; I quite forgot it's 
her old man's day! " 

The first week of my stay in Marlotte was quite 
uneventful. The days passed by with nothing to 
specially mark one from another. One got into 
a methodical way of living : working all the morn- 
ing — dejeuner, cafe, and a smoke in the garden 
— then perhaps, if it was too hot to go out immedi- 
ately afterwards, a siesta under the trees for an 
hour — then work again till dinner. After dinner 
we would perhaps stroll as far as the railway 
bridge at Montigny and set one's watch by the 
express which passed at nine o'clock. It was 
a very tranquil existence indeed, and suited me 
after the strenuous life in Paris. Then two inci- 
dents occurred which broke the monotony. I 
will relate them in the order in which they 
happened. 

179 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

One day when I got back for lunch I saw that 
there was a convert laid for a new-comer at the 
table d'hote, and next to me. Who could it be, I 
wondered? Some artist doubtless. Lunch pro- 
ceeded, and just as we were half-way through, a 
beautiful young woman is the daintiest of summer 
attire entered and took the vacant seat. All eyes 
were immediately focused on her, for she was 
indeed a radiant vision amongst all these unkempt 
men and dowdy females. There had not been 
anything so attractive in Marlotte for many a long 
day. She brought an aroma of chic Paris into 
the room. The unattached painters commenced 
to twirl their moustaches and smooth their hair, and 
I mentally congratulated myself on having shaved 
that morning. Her neighbours on the other side 
were a grey-bearded artist and his wife, who wore 
spectacles — very uninteresting persons who seldom 
spoke to anyone ; so it immediately flashed through 
my mind that, at any rate, if there was a chance 
of an " aventure " I could not be better placed. 

Her advent was as a signal for a silence of 
some moments ; the women stared at her as only 
women can when they want to be rude. The men 
couldn't take their eyes off her. As she was seated 
next to me, I could not very well turn round with- 
out being ill-mannered ; I could only give an 
occasional glance in her direction — but I noticed 
she had exquisite hands, and that she had wavy 
red hair and the loveliest little nose imaginable. 

i8o 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Although she must have been aware of the atten- 
tion she attracted, she apparently accepted it as 
homage she was but accustomed to, and her 
demeanour was quite calm and unruffled. 

The meal proceeded as usual, and I was 
wondering whether, without appearing unduly 
presumptuous, I might venture to make some 
commonplace remark to her — for there was no 
formality about introduction at our table d'hote, 
everyone spoke to everyone else if they felt 
inclined to. After a little while, whilst I was 
trying to think of something more original than 
the time-worn subject of the weather to start a con- 
versation on, I heard her ask the maidservant, in 
a deHghtfuUy musical and Parisian voice, if there 
was any ice in the hotel — about the last thing one 
would have expected to find in Marlotte. Of 
course they had not any, and this gave me my 
opening — although it was only on the subject of 
the weather after all; but it certainly was excep- 
tionally torrid that summer, and everyone was 
talking about it. 

To my delight she was not in the least averse 
to entering into a conversation ; she seemed rather 
to welcome it, I thought, and in a very short time 
we were chatting away on all the subjects of 
interest in the neighbourhood — the forest, the 
scenery, the village, the artists living in it, and so 
on ; and after lunch we went and sat outside and 
had coffee together, and I fetched a pochade I had 

i8i 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

made that morning to show her. My work seemed 
to interest her, and she wanted to know all about 
myself. Then we started talking about Paris ; 
but the Bohemian world was not hers — for I soon 
discovered she was quite ignorant of its curious 
ways. I felt I wanted to ask her about herself, 
and why she was in this out-of-the-way place 
alone ; but there was a certain reserve in her 
manner which rather intimidated me. She was 
so different to any other woman I had hitherto 
met. 

We spent an hour very pleasantly, and then she 
rose and said she must be going as she had friends 
in the neighbourhood to visit. By this time I had 
already the deep conviction that with her as a com- 
panion life for a summer at Marlotte, or all the 
year round, would indeed be worth living ; but 
I had the intuition to give no utterance to my 
thoughts. So beautiful a woman must, I realised, 
be accustomed to listening to such compliments ; 
so anything I might say on that subject would only 
sound banal. I determined to stifle my feelings 
and try and be original — and I believe that for 
once I did the right thing. " Au revoir," she said 
as she left me. 

She did not put in an appearance that evening 
at dinner, and I found myself aimlessly wander- 
ing in and out of the hotel afterwards in the hope 
of catching a glimpse of her, but in vain. " La 
dame qui est arrivee ce matin, Monsieur?" said 

182 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

the bonne in answer to my query. " Elle n'est 
pas rentree depuis quelle est sortie cet apres-midi." 

The following morning I was up betimes, but 
after having my coffee I still found myself uncon- 
sciously loitering about the place instead of getting 
off into the forest as usual. It was a lovely morn- 
ing — just one of those days when one feels glad 
to be alive and well ; so I had put on white flannel 
trousers and a collar and tie to live up to it, which 
was rather an exceptional occurrence at Marlotte, 
where we were not as I said in the habit of spend- 
ing much time or thought over our appearance. 

As I stood at the door irresolute as to whether 
I ought not to get off to my work, De Penne came 
along with his dogs. 

" What, are you leaving us ? " he said. 

" No, why do you ask? " I rephed. 

" Because you look so smart this morning," he 
said with a laugh. 

" I don't see anything very extraordinary in 
making myself look clean and tidy occasionally 
even in this outlandish place," I answered some- 
what sharply, for I was hoping She would not 
come out whilst he was there ; somehow, much 
as I liked him, I felt that his casual Montmartre 
manner with women would be quite out of place in 
this instance. Suddenly, as we were talking, he 
exclaimed, " Tiens mais, qui est cette dame qui 
vient par ici ? " 

I looked round and beheld Her. She looked 
183 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

even more beautiful than on the previous day, as 
she came down the street in the briUiant morning 
sunshine. She was all in white — white dress, 
white shoes, white parasol ; and as she was wearing 
no hat the effect of her gorgeous hair made a 
wonderful note of colour. 

" Excuse me, old fellow," I said hastily. " It's 
a friend of mine," and I hurried away towards her, 
without giving him time to reply. I was conceited 
enough to fancy that she seemed just a little bit 
pleased to meet me again. I blurted out a com- 
pliment in spite of my resolve to be original ; but 
she looked so charming I could not resist it — 
besides which I really felt what I said. " You 
must let me paint you in that dress," I continued 
impetuously, " you look simply lovely in it." 

" One of these days, perhaps," she replied with a 
laugh. " Though I'm afraid I shouldn't make a 
very patient sitter." 

" Oh, I think you would, since you have the 
energy to get up and go out so early." 

" And you ? " she said, turning the conversation 
adroitly from herself. " How is it you are still in 
the village and not away working at your picture ? " 

"Well, to tell you the truth, I had an idle fit 
on me this morning," I replied, not wishing to let 
her know that to see her was the sole reason for 
my not being at work. 

" It can't be helped — I shall be a great artist a 
day later I suppose," I added with one of my 

184 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

feeble attempts at wit — which however appeared 
to amuse her. 

" Well, you are lucky to be able to do as you 
please. I wish I could, for nothing would suit 
me better than to stroll about this lovely weather ; 
but unfortunately I have some letters to write and 
must get them off this morning or I shall miss 
the mail." 

" Shall we meet at lunch ? " I ventured to ask 
as she turned to go into the hotel. 

" Yes, I think so," she replied, with a smile that 
left me more smitten than ever. 

If the air of France inspires romance then that 
of Marlotte must be more particularly potent. We 
met every day after this, and our acquaintance 
rapidly developed into friendship ; and then — but 
why tell more — let it suffice to mention that the 
Gorge aux Loups will always be associated in my 
memory with love-making rather than with painting. 
Although I really did sketch her, in the intervals ; 
but the result did not satisfy me at all, and I felt 
disgusted at my poor efforts to reproduce her as she 
really appeared to me. What, however, impressed 
the whole delightful episode more particularly on 
my memory that even now after many years I can 
still recall every incident connected with it — was 
the mystery surrounding it. Curious as it may 
seem, I never got to know her real name — nor 
even who were her friends in the village. She 
had made it a sort of tacit condition of our amitie 

185 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

that I should not attempt to find out who she was 
or anything about her. And I was too happy in 
the feehng that I had all her love to desire to know 
anything more than she cared to tell me. 

" My life is full of sorrow and unhappiness," 
she remarked suddenly, in a strained tone, to 
me one afternoon whilst we were sitting lovingly 
together in a secluded nook of the forest a few 
weeks later. 

" Why do you say that just at this moment, 
dearest ? " I asked, with a presentiment that I was 
about to receive bad tidings. 

" Because I may have to go away at any moment 
now. I hate to have to tell you, mon cheri, but 
I had to sooner or later — that our amour must end 
when I leave Marlotte." 

" End when you leave Marlotte ! " I ejaculated ; 
" but why — shall we not meet in Paris ? " 

" No, it cannot be," she repHed with emotion, 
and nestHng her head against my shoulder and 
placing her arm around my neck. " And I want 
to ask you to do something very, very serious for 
me — I want you to give me your promise that if 
ever we meet again anywhere you will not recog- 
nise me; from the moment I leave Marlotte you 
will forget we ever knew each other." 

I remember as though it were yesterday how I 
sat in silence for some moments — I felt as though 
stunned. Everything suddenly seemed changed 
around me ; it was as if a big void was before me 

i86 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

— that something was going out of my life. She 
was the first to speak. 

" You will do this for my sake, won't you ? " she 
said earnestly. 

In a husky voice that I recollect sounded as if 
it did not belong to me I promised to do what 
she asked. I had no other alternative. 

She drew my face towards her and kissed me 
passionately — her eyes were full of tears. 

" We have been very happy together, mon 
cheri bien aime during these few weeks ; and who 
knows — perhaps it is better for both of us, we 
might have got tired of each other if our love could 
have become a liaison." 

I uttered a protest. 

" Well, perhaps I should have got tired of you," 
she continued, attempting to laugh through her 
tears, " for I'm a very fickle person and want a 
lot of humouring." 

My heart was too full for words — so all I could 
do was to clasp her tightly to me, with the thought 
that she was still mine for a few short hours longer. 

As we walked back to the village I fancied she 
seemed to try and be even more tender and loving, 
as though to soothe the blow she had been obliged 
to inflict on me. The next days seemed to speed 
by on wings. I never remember time going so 
quickly ; but the close of our romance was near at 
hand, as we both realised. She was now waiting 
for a letter or wire which would recall her — it 

jS7 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

might arrive at any moment. Never shall I forget 
those last hours we spent together. They passed 
as though in a dream. It was one long ecstasy 
of love. And then the end came, remorselessly as 
Fate, on our return to the hotel one morning. 

" II y a une depeche pour Madame." It was 
the finish of the rhapsody. 

A day after I received a tiny little note with 
the one word on it — " Adieu." It had been posted 
at the railway station at Montigny. 

A few months later I had driven out to the Bois 
one Sunday afternoon with Monsieur and Madame 
Thomas, and we were seated at the Restaurant 
of the Cascade watching the smart crowd arriving 
and departing, when suddenly Madame Thomas 
remarked : " What a very beautiful woman that is ; 
I wonder who she is." 

I looked round and saw stepping out of a dainty 
victoria my lovely Inconnue of Marlotte. She 
was accompanied by a grey-haired elderly man 
old enough to be her father, but who was probably 
her husband. They had to pass close to where 
we were seated. Our eyes met. I fancied I saw 
her give a startled movement; but faithful to my 
promise I betrayed not the faintest sign of recog- 
nition. Her cloak lightly brushed my arm as she 
passed, and I felt a thrill go through me. That 
was the last time I ever saw her. 

One evening I was sitting at the cafe reading a 
paper when I overheard the following conversation : 

i88 




AS TIIOUC.H IN A DRKAM. 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

" I hear that Mademoiselle de is getting 

married." 

"Married?" 

" Yes, and to a very rich old man," 

" Fancy that. What will she do about her child, 
I wonder? Does her future husband know of it? " 

" Why should he ? Ever since it was born it 
has been en nourrice with some peasants right 
away down in the country somewhere, and even 
her own people don't know of the ' encumbrance.' 
The curious part of it, I'm told, is that she is 
quite devoted to the child, and every year manages 
to go down and spend a few weeks where it is." 

" That doesn't surprise me, because she was 
always a real good sort." 

I was listening without attaching much import- 
ance to the conversation when the thought sud- 
denly struck me — might not a similar case explain 
my mystery of Marlotte ? 



J 89 



CHAPTER XV 

Another incident at Marlotte — ^Tiie American artist — A 
caricature after dinner — A mysterious departure — An un- 
pleasant surprise for Marlotte — My caricature at the 
Prefecture de Police — Lost in the Palace of Fontainebleau — 
Exciting adventure — Unpopularity — An amusing joke. 

The Other incident which happened whilst I was 
at Marlotte was not at all of a romantic character, 
but it was so out of the common that it quite merits 
being narrated at length. 

One day there arrived at the hotel a peculiar- 
looking individual; he was an American artist he 
said, and as he spoke with a decided twang, and 
carried a large paint-box, everyone took him at 
his word. He was about thirty years of age, and 
had very long hair and an exceptionally big droop- 
ing moustache, which gave him somewhat the look 
of a human walrus. I will not give his name, for 
reasons which will be obvious. He turned out to 
be quite a jovial and genial sort of fellow, and 
gradually made friends with everyone — including 
even the villagers, with whom he used to chat 
and joke in his execrable French. Altogether he 
proved an acquisition to the table d'hote. 

190 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Curiously enough, as was remarked afterwards, 
no one ever saw him do any painting; he always 
carried his big paint-box slung over his shoulder, 
and from that it was naturally inferred that he 
had been or was going sketching, but of his work 
no one saw anything. As he was an exceptionally 
good billiard player he soon ingratiated himself 
with the habitues of the room, and every evening 
after dinner, and sometimes in the afternoon, one 
saw him playing and usually winning their sous. 
He seemed to have taken a particular fancy to De 
Penne and old Ciceri, and this was reciprocated 
as he soon was invited to call on them, and became 
a regular visitor at their houses. To Madame 
Ciceri in particular he was especially attentive, 
and used to constantly send her bouquets from a 
florist at Montigny. 

One evening a few of us were in the salle k 
manger after dinner taking our coffee, and passing 
the time discussmg Art and what not — chiefly what 
not — when it occurred to me to make a caricature 
of the American. I had already done many whilst 
at the table, and used to be considered rather good 
at catching likenesses this way. He somewhat 
strongly objected at first, but he was eventually 
persuaded to let m.e do it, and as I happened to 
be in the humour I managed to get an amusing 
but at the same time striking portrait of him. 
Everybody roared with laughter on seeing it, and 
said it was better than any photograph of him 

191 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

could be. The reason I lay stress on this will be 
seen. 

A few days later we noticed that he did not turn 
up at lunch or dinner. At first we took no notice 
of his absence ; then someone asked the patron 
what had become of him — and learned that he 
didn't know, but thought he must have gone to 
Paris. 

A week passed, and as he didn't return his room 
was opened, and on examining his portmanteau 
it was found to be practically empty. He had 
taken everything of any value he might have had 
with him. His paint-box which he left behind him 
contained nothing whatever, not even a palette. 
All this would not have mattered much had he not 
neglected the trifling formality of paying his bill 
before he departed, and as he had been there 
several weeks, it amounted to a fair sum. But this 
was not all, by any means ; for it then transpired 
that he had taken with him several small pictures 
from the studios of his friends Ciceri and De Penne 
— pictures which could be immediately converted 
into cash at any marchand de tableaux in the Rue 
Lafitte, and this was what he actually did, as we 
afterwards learned. 

The crowning blow of all, however, concerned 
Madame Ciceri, to whom he had been sending the 
handsome bouquets — for she received a bill for 
them from the florist at Montigny, as he had never 
received a sou from the American. All this was 

192 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

a very unpleasant surprise for the good folk at 
Marlotte. The police were put on his track, but 
with no result, as he had left no traces, and when I 
left the case appeared to have been practically aban- 
doned ; but it was not so, for I had only been back 
in Paris about a week when one day a stranger — 
an affable, well-dressed gentleman — called on me, 
and handed me his card, on which was his name. 
He was an Inspector of the Surete. He cam.e 
from the Prefecture de Police to ask me if I would 
kindly oblige them by lending them for a few days 
the caricature which they had been informed I had 
made of the absconding American. Of course I 
could not refuse ; and in due course it was returned 
to me, together with a photographic reproduction 
which had been made from it with Prefecture de 
Police stamped on it. I have it still. This repro- 
duction I afterwards learned was circulated in all 
of the police stations throughout France, and the 
missing Yankee was actually traced and eventually 
caught through its instrumentality. He got a severe 
sentence for his misdeeds. I have always thought 
that he must have had some intuitive feeling of 
misgiving when he so strongly objected to my mak- 
ing the caricature of him that evening at Marlotte. 
It was shortly after this that I had one of the 
most curious adventures of my life."* It happened 

* This adventure forms the basis of a story I wrote for the Wide 
World Magazine, and I am relating it briefly here by courteous 
permission of the Editor. 

193 N 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PAKIS 

in Fontainebleau, where I had gone to spend a 
week, having obtained permission to sketch in the 
Palace. The romantic always had a great attrac- 
tion for me, and I loved to wander through the old 
building by myself, and spent hours, sketch-book 
in hand, exploring the place, as my permit allowed 
me to go where I chose. One wet afternoon when 
there were hardly any visitors about I was strolling 
through one of the rooms when I noticed something 
peculiar in a panel of the wainscoting. On nearei 
examination I discovered it was a sort of metal 
catch or lock, and that the panel itself was a secret 
door. My curiosity was not unnaturally aroused. 
I tried it and found that it opened inward, and led 
into a dark, narrow corridor. The spirit of adven- 
ture was strong within me and I did not hesitate. 
Making sure I was unobserved, I went in and pulled 
the panel to after me. I then discovered that the 
passage led to a large private suite of rooms which 
had evidently not been visited for years, judging 
from the thick coating of dust and the cobwebs 
everywhere. 

On all sides were magnificent old furniture and 
faded hangings, which gave an uncanny, ghostly 
look to the place, which was heightened by the old- 
world odour which pervaded the rooms. Here 
indeed was an adventure, thought I, as I made my 
way with ecstasy through the quaint apartments. 
Although not large, there seemed no end to the 
number of rooms which led from one to another, 

194 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

interminably as it seemed — with all manner of 
unexpected twists and turns ; whilst now and again 
some dark corridor indicated still further surprises. 

But I had no time that afternoon to pursue my 
explorations as it was getting near dusk, and the 
time for closing the Palace, so I began to retrace my 
steps. I forgot to mention that as I came along 
I had noticed a very beautiful old clock of the 
eight-day description. I again stopped to admire 
it, and then passed on. Shortly after I was some- 
what surprised to see another clock of precisely 
the same design ; strange, I thought, as I went by 
it that there should be two similar. A litde farther, 
to my amazement, I came up to yet another exactly 
like the two previous ones ; then it suddenly 
dawned on me that I had been walking in a circle, 
that there was only one clock after all, and that I 
had lost my way. 

I stood aghast. In an instant it flashed 
through my mind that unless I could find 
my way back to the secret door the chances of 
anyone coming to my rescue were almost nil, for 
I was in a part of the vast building which was prob- 
ably almost unknown. So I set about attempting 
to retrace my footsteps by means of the furniture 
and other objects that had attracted me as I had 
come along; but to no purpose, as I soon dis- 
covered. I could not remember the way back. All 
the windows looked out on gardens which were 
deserted. It was getting dark, and the Palace 

195 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

was now closed, so I could expect no help from 
inside, unless the attendant had noticed I had not 
left the building, and was looking for me. 

With this hope in my mind I started walking 
about rapidly, and shouting at the top of my voice 
" Au secours." The words echoed and re-echoed 
through the rooms with ghostly effect, but there was 
no response. I now began to get seriously alarmed ; 
and had visions of a slow death by starvation. 
Time was passing, and it would soon be night, 
so I sat down on a bed to consider my position 
calmly, as I felt nothing was to be gained by losing 
my head. How long I sat there I don't remember, 
as I must have dozed off I fancy ; then I discovered 
it was now quite dark. Suddenly I heard footsteps 
on the gravelled walk outside, and the reflection of 
a light. Rushing to the nearest window I dis- 
covered, to my intense relief, that it was a watch- 
man passing with a lantern. I frantically, by 
lighting a match and tapping vigorously, managed 
to attract his attention. The look of surprise on 
his face as he turned in my direction and discovered 
me may be imagined. 

I bawled out that I was shut in, and how I'd got 
where I was, and after a few minutes he understood 
me. Then calling out to me to remain where I 
was he hurried off. The time now seemed inter- 
minable; but at length I heard, to my joy, 
footsteps resounding through the apartments, and 
a little group of officials appeared. I was saved. 

196 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

It is unnecessary to add that there was an inquiry 
the following day, but my explanation satisfied the 
authorities — for my " permit " did not state that I 
was not allowed to visit this particular portion of 
the Palace. 

Some years afterwards I was going through the 
building with a friend to whom I had told my 
adventure, and wished to show him the secret 
panel; but it had been masked by a big piece of 
furniture. 

A very amusing joke was played on an artist 
in a cafe in Fontainebleau one afternoon whilst I 
was there. The cafe was used as a sort of club 
by its habitues who used to meet there every day for 
an aperitif, and of an evening for billiards. It was 
usually crowded about five o'clock in the afternoon. 
The artist in question, whom I will call Durand — 
in case he ever reads this — lived a little way out 
of the town, but seldom missed turning up at the 
" cercle," as the cafe was termed, at least once a 
day. He had somehow managed to make himself 
extremely unpopular with the other habitues, as 
he was always putting on " side " — a very bad 
offence in the eyes of the simple folks of a pro- 
vincial town. 

This had been resented for some time past, and 
attempts had been made to let him know that he 
was not accepted at his own valuation, and was not 
wanted in the cafe ; but to no effect, as he was too 
wrapped up in bis own conceit. 

197 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

He was a big, pompous man, and his principal 
weakness was tiis belief in his abiHty to do any- 
thing better than anyone else in the " cercle." 
On all games or sport he posed as an authority. 
Billiards were his especial fancy — ^as he really 
could play a good game ; and he was always wait- 
ing an opportunity to inveigle some unsuspecting 
new-comer into a match, have a bet on, and win his 
money; which was not considered sportsman-like 
at all, as may be imagined. 

One day the opportunity presented itself to pay 
him out. An old habitue of the cafe, who had 
been away from Fontainebleau for some months, 
came back for a few days. He was one of the best 
amateur billiard players in France, had won the 
championship, and had often beaten professionals. 
He was told about all the goings-on of the unpopu- 
lar painter, and agreed to join in a plot to " rag " 
him thoroughly. So it was arranged that the 
following afternoon he should be in the cafe, and 
the artist should be led on gradually and drawn 
into a match with him there and then for a 
special bet. 

The next day the place was crowded, as news 
of what was going to happen got about. Durand 
came in as usual, and found himself treated with 
unusual friendship — invited to drink with men who 
seldom took any notice of him, and so on. This, 
of course, only helped to still further elate him in 
his own estimation ; he evidently thought he was 

198 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

a very popular fellow indeed, and his strident voice 
could be heard all over the cafe as he laid down 
the law on every subject he was drawn in to 
discuss. 

Amongst those sitting round was the amateur 
billiard champion, who was a stranger to him. 
Very skilfully the conversation was turned on 
to billiards — and a mock discussion was started 
by two men, and Durand was invited to decide 
the question, which of course he did. And then, one 
thing leading to another, someone mentioned that 
it was well known that he, the artist, was the best 
billiard player they had ever had in Fontainebleau. 
Whereat he preened himself, and admitted that this 
was so ; and that he was prepared to take on any- 
one in the district for anything he liked to name. 
At which there were loud cheers. Then someone 
pretended to take the proposition up seriously, and 
said that he had a man he would back against the 
artist; then another rejoined with his choice, but 
it was pointed out that all these were men whose 
game was too well known to be taken seriously. 

Suddenly, as though by accident, someone said 
that he'd back Duval (a fictitious name they'd given 
the champion) to take up the challenge, and several 
men pretended to agree with him ; then followed a 
heated discussion between the supposed partisans 
of Durand and those of Duval. Who was Duval ? 
What had he ever done to prove himself a billiard 
player at all — he was scarcely known in the town. 

199 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

However his backer persisted in his opinion that 
he could easily beat the other man; and would 
advise him to take on any bet that was made, and 
would, moreover, back him himself to any amount. 
Meanwhile the artist was being egged on to wait, 
and he could win anything he chose to name, so 
certain a thing was it ; the mere idea of this com- 
paratively unknown man daring to play against him 
was absurd. At last they advised him what to do, 
and he jumped up and called out. 

" Assez — diet's get to work ; what's the bet — name 
your figure. Monsieur." 

" I don't play for money," replied the other, with 
mock humility. 

" Play him for his trousers," someone called out 
to the artist. " It will teach him not to fancy 
himself so much in future." All this had of course 
been planned. 

Everyone crowded round ; there was wild talk- 
ing and gesticulating between the rival partisans, 
and in the end it was settled that the stake was to 
be the trousers the loser was wearing. The artist 
stroked his beard with glee, and called out to his 
adversary as he took off his coat to start playing, 
" And don't make any mistake about it. Monsieur. 
I shall insist on your handing them over to me 
here in the cafe." So certain was he of winninof. 

Well, as had also been arranged, the champion 
pretended to be very nervous, and missed some 
very easy shots at the commencement of the game 

200 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

— and the excitement was intense ; but with all his 
bad play he left absolutely nothing each time. He 
didn't score at all, but Durand, on the other hand, 
made no headway and began to lose his temper; 
he was unaccustomed to such unusual difficulty. 

Well, this went on for a time amidst a buzz of dis- 
cussion after eaoh stroke, till at last, after missing 
what looked like a very easy shot, he turned to 
Duval and said pompously, as he chalked his cue : 
" This is the last chance I am going to give you, 
so you had better make the best of it. I'm going 
to start playing seriously now." But try all he 
could, he could not get ahead of his adversary, 
who won, as arranged, by apparently a brilliant 
effort, and with a splendid break of eight, if I 
remember right. The uproar was deafening, and 
the partisans of the winner carried him round the 
room in triumph. Now came the moment for 
setthng the bet, and the artist tried all he could 
to avoid it, for he was no sportsman at heart. He 
wanted to leave the cafe, but this had been fore- 
seen, and we all gathered round the door, thus 
making exit impossible. Then he saw that he had 
no longer any partisans, that everyone present 
was against him ; " le pari — le pari, enlevez les 
culottes " was shouted on all sides. In vain did 
he protest that he would catch cold — no heed was 
taken ; and in the end, to avoid having them taken 
off by force, he divested himself of the garment 
amidst roars of laughter and jeers. Then they 

201 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

allowed him to borrow an overcoat, for it was a 
bleak day, and take his departure ; but outside 
the cafe the news had spread, and a crowd had 
assembled to see the novel spectacle of a big 
man go through the streets in a short overcoat, 
and with no trousers on, and he had practically 
to run the gauntlet of the whole town till he got 
back to his lodgings. An hour later his trousers 
were returned to him by a messenger, who found 
him packing up prior to taking his departure from 
Fontainebleau. He had realised that he was not 
so popular as he had fondly imagined. 



202 



CHAPTER XVI 

A visit to Moret — Funny adventure on way to station — A 
good-natured Frenchman — Willing hands — Arrival at 
station — Amusement of bystanders — Lost belongings — 
Incident in carriage — Disagreeable passenger — No smok- 
ing — A whistling story — Another smoking story — The 
bully and the bantam — A curious military incident at the 
Gare St Lazare — Moret and its surroundings — Lolling as 
a fine art. 

My visits to Fontainebleau and its neighbourhood 
seemed somehow to be always fraught with incident 
for me. Shortly after the adventure I have just 
recounted, I received an invitation to go and 
spend a few days with a friend of mine whose 
mother had an estate at Moret, a delightful little 
village quite close to the forest. The chance of 
spending a Httle holiday en famille, and in such 
picturesque surroundings, was too good to be 
refused, so I gladly accepted, and arranged to go 
down with my friend one afternoon. When I 
came to pack my bag I discovered that it was 
in a very defective condition, and it was only 
after a deal of coaxing that I got it to close. 
However, this did not worry me much, as I knew 
I could take it in the carriage with me. Besides 

203 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PAKIS 

my bag, I took my paint-box, easel, and a couple 
of canvases, as of course I intended to do some 
painting whilst I was away. 

The fact of all this would scarcely be worth 
mentioning were it not for a funny adventure that 
happened on the way to the station. My friend 
was late in calling for me, as he had had to make 
several purchases for his mother; so he had quite 
a miscellaneous collection of parcels in the cab 
he came to fetch me in. The Gare de Lyon is 
quite a distance from Montmartre, and we had 
no time to spare, so we told the cocher he would 
have something extra in the shape of a good tip 
if he got us there in time to catch our train. He was 
game, so was his horse, and we went off at a pace 
that would have got him run in for furious driving 
anywhere else but in Paris. The way he turned 
corners and dashed in and out of the traffic would 
have made our hair stand on end, had it not been 
that we were fully occupied in preventing the 
parcels from flying out. 

We had got well on the way, and were just 
congratulating ourselves that we were safe to 
reach the station in time, when suddenly in turn- 
ing a corner the fiacre skidded, and with a crash 
off came one of the back wheels, and over we 
went. We were both pitched out ; luckily neither 
of us was hurt, but all our baggage was in 
the road — in seemingly inextricable confusion. I 
never saw such a mess of things in my Hfe. My 

204 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

unfortunate bag had simply burst, and shirts and 
collars, clothes and boots, were in the mud. My 
paint-box had come open, and had shed its 
contents amongst the packages belonging to my 
friend; whilst out of one of the parcels a syrupy 
stream of yellow chartreuse was pouring over the 
wreckage. My canvases had been transfixed 
by the easel. 

There are times when it is brought home 
to one forcibly that language is inadequate 
to express thought, and this was one of these 
occasions. My friend and I dusted ourselves 
down and surveyed the scene of desolation with- 
out uttering a word, for there were no words to 
cover the situation. The driver stood hat in 
hand scratching his head helplessly, and ejacu- 
lating at short intervals " Nom de D , nom 

de D ! " 

In less time than it takes to tell it a crowd 
had collected, and gathered round, grinning 
at our plight, for no doubt it was very funny 
to anyone not personally interested in it; but 
to us it meant losing our train as well as hav- 
ing our belongings spoilt. We looked round in 
despair. There was no sign of another convey- 
ance, for the accident had happened in a by-street. 
Then suddenly a big man appeared on the scene 
and seemed to grasp the situation at a glance. 
He was one of those good-natured, officious sort 
of individuals who must have a say in everything^. 

205 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

" Going to catch a train, eh ? Bad luck this, 
but can't be helped. What time have you got 
to be at the station? Oh, you've got time still if 
we can find another cab." 

We were like drowning men catching at a 
straw. We looked at our watches. " But how 
about our things ? " we exclaimed. 

" Oh, we'll soon put them together," and suit- 
ing the action to the words, he good-naturedly 
started picking up our belongings and stuffing 
them quickly into the broken bag. His example 
was contagious ; other wilHng hands helped. But 
if it was difficult to pack the bag quietly at my 
rooms, it may be imagined what it was like trying 
to do it in the middle of the road with everything 
in hopeless confusion. Just at that moment a 
cart came along, and had to pull up as we were 
blocking the road. The driver looked on with 
an air of interest at our frantic endeavours. Our 
newly found friend called out to him with an air 
of authority — as if he knew all about him, " You 
are going towards the Gare de Lyon ; won't you 
give these two artists a lift.'^ You see what's 
happened, and they will miss their train unless 
you are a bon enfant, as you look." 

" Certainly — ^with pleasure," the man replied. 
" Chuck your things in. How much have you got 
to pay me? Nothing of course. What do you 
take me for ? I'm not a cabman. You'll sort them 
out afterwards." 

206 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

The people who were helping gave up attempting 
to pack, and hastily tied up everything in the first 
thing handy — in shirts or anything that could be 
made up in a bundle. What wouldn't go into a 
bundle went into the cart loose. Then we 
scrambled in ourselves, and off we went full gallop, 
to the accompaniment of hearty cheers from the 
crowd, whilst the big man yelled " Bonne chance 
and bon voyage, mes amis." 

We got to the station and found we had missed 
the fast train we had hoped to catch, but were 
just in time for the last one of the day, a slow one 
which would get us to our destination a couple of 
hours later. There was no help for it, so hastily 
thanking the driver of the cart for his kind assist- 
ance, we got a couple of porters, and, much to the 
amusement of the people in the station, between 
us we managed to carry our scattered belongings 
to the train, where we threw them into the first 
carriage we came to, and which happened to have 
only one occupant. 

We were so thoroughly excited and out of 
breath that for a few minutes after the train 
started we did not move. Then we began 
putting our goods and chattels together — and 
now came the climax. We were both quite 
prepared to find a lot of damage done, but to our 
dismay we discovered that no end of things were 
missing. No doubt in the hurry in taking tLem 
out of the cart they had got overlooked, or, who 

207 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

knows, perhaps some of them had been annexed 
as souvenirs by the crowd. Anyhow, as far as 
I was concerned, I had come off worse than my 
friend, as I found I had lost one boot, my brush 
and comb, my palette, and nearly all the paints 
and brushes out of my box, amongst other items ; 
and what wasn't lost was covered by dirt and 
sticky with yellow chartreuse. However, it was 
no use crying over it ; the only thing was to make 
the best of it, and in a short time our youthful 
spirits returned, and we were laughing over the 
adventure. But more was to follow ; it was to be 
an eventful journey. 

I mentioned there was only one other occupant 
of the carriage — a sour-faced, middle-aged man, 
who glared on us when we made our uncere- 
monious entrance, and still more so when the 
porters threw our scattered belongings in. Well, 
after regaining our composure we did the most 
natural thing under the circumstances. We pulled 
out our pipes and started to smoke. Suddenly 
there was a harsh voice from the other side of the 
carriage. " Je vous defends de fumer. This is 
not a smoking compartment." 

We turned round in astonishment, as it is 
generally understood in France that, unless there 
are ladies in the carriage, one can smoke, pro- 
vided, of course, the other occupants of the 
carriage don't object. We had omitted the for- 
mality of asking our fellow-traveller his permission, 

«oi8 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

So we hastened to apologise, and trusted he would 
not mind us continuing. For all reply he gruffly 
retorted, " I forbid you to smoke, and if you don't 
leave off at once I shall inform the guard at the 
first stopping-place, and have a proces verbal 
drawn up against you both." 

There was no mistaking it — he intended to be 
nasty, and as he was in his right, we had no alter- 
native but to give in. My friend and I looked 
at each other, and sat in silence for some minutes, 
for it was a bit of a shock. We had a long jour- 
ney before us as we stopped at nearly every 
station, and with our luggage so damaged, it would 
be difficult to change our carriage easily. We 
were both inveterate smokers, so the prospect 
was not a pleasant one. I tried to think of a way 
to cause this surly individual as much annoyance 
as he had us. Suddenly a brilliant idea struck me, 
and without telling my friend what I intended 
doing, I asked him in a loud tone of voice if he 
had heard the funny story of the stuttering man 
who was cured of his infirmity by whistling. 

" No," said he, guessing I was up to some mis- 
chief, " let's hear it." 

The story, by the way, which is a very old one, 
is of a man who tells an inquisitive stranger, who 
has asked him why he speaks so curiously, that 
he once stuttered very much, but had been cured 
by a specialist, who had advised him, whenever he 
felt he was going to stutter, to draw in a long 

309 o 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

breath and whistle. He stuttered all the time he 
was saying this, and finished by saying in explana- 
tion of his peculiar way of speaking, " And n-n-ow 
(loud whistle) I'm com-com-plet-te-ly (whistle) 
c-cured, a-as y-you s-s-see " — louder whistle to 
finish up with. Of course I prolonged the story 
inordinately, and every time I whistled I noticed 
the man, who was reading, look round and squirm, 
but there is no rule against whistling in a railway 
carriage in France. My friend at once entered 
into the spirit of the joke, and insisted on my 
telling it several times, roared with laughter, said 
it was the best joke he had ever heard, and then 
pretended to try and tell it himself, with many 
attempts at the whistling part especially. How 
long we should have kept it up I don't know, but 
at last our neighbour turned sharply towards us 
and exclaimed abruptly : 
" I prefer your smoking to your whistling." 
We both bowed obsequiously, but we said 
nothing. I fancy he felt like laughing, but 
managed to keep his countenance. Then we again 
produced our pipes, and lit up and smoked to our 
heart's content. He got out shortly after, and we 
opened the door for him with a mock deference, 
which must have made him feel mad, but he said 
nothing. 

Smoking in carriages not labelled " fumeurs " is 
likely to lead one into more unpleasantness in 
France than one would expect — considering what 

210 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

inveterate smokers the French are ; and I recollect 
one occasion when it wasn't our fault there wasn't 
a row. A friend and I were coming back from 
Saint Germain one Sunday, and as the train was 
crowded, we jumped into the nearest carriage. It 
was a first-class compartment, and in it were already 
three passengers, two ladies accompanied by a 
middle-aged man. He was one of those big, 
heavy, unpleasant sort of fellows, who stretch out 
their legs, and want to occupy two seats. We 
were smoking cigarettes, and had jumped m so 
hurriedly that we had not noticed we were getting 
into a non-smoker. 

We had barely sat down when the man in a 
loud, blustering tone called out to us, " You won't 
smoke here." He was evidently a bully, and 
thought he saw his chance of showing off. Of 
course we neither of us had the slightest intention 
of smoking if we were not in a smoking carriage, 
and he had but to inform us politely that such 
was the case, instead of which he spoke to us as 
he would have to dogs. I felt my back hair rising, 
and glanced at my companion to see how he had 
taken it, for I knew he had the temper of a very 
devil, and it took very little to rouse it. I shall 
never forget the look on his face. He was a 
smallish chap, but he was a rare fighter, as I knew 
very well, and had a heart Hke a lion. He looked 
the bully straight in the face, and said in a quiet 
voice, but which absolutely vibrated with passion : 

211 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

" Is it to me you are addressing yourself, 
Monsieur?" 

For all reply the man in an indescribably inso- 
lent tone said, " Oui, Monsieur." 

" Bien, Monsieur," said my friend, " nous nous 
verrons apres." Dropping his cigarette on the floor 
he crushed it with his foot. He then sank back, 
and fixed his eyes on the man opposite — with such 
a look that he must have realised that it was only 
the presence of the two ladies that saved him from 
having to fight then and there. This continued 
for some minutes. Then the man began to fidget 
and look uncomfortable ; he had evidently realised 
that he was up against a tartar, for suddenly to 
my surprise he leaned forward, and in a tone which 
was in marked contrast to his former demeanour, 
he said to my friend in a half-whisper, so that his 
companions should not hear : 

" I must apologise if I spoke somewhat 
brusquely. I don't object to smoking — in fact, 
could do with a cigar myself — but the ladies don't 
like it." 

It was a big climb down, and proved him to be 
only a cur in spite of his size. 

The mention of railway journeys and bullying 
recalls another incident which, although it has no 
connection with this particular trip to Moret, may 
be recounted here whilst it is in my memory. One 
Sunday morning several of us were going into 
the country for the day. Amongst the party was 

212 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

a young fellow doing his service militaire, and 
who was therefore in uniform. He was a private 
in a line regiment. We were late in arriving at 
the Gare St Lazare, and only had just about 
enough time to catch our train. The station was 
crowded with excursionists like ourselves, and we 
were rushing through the big hall towards the 
door leading to our platform, when suddenly we 
heard someone call out roughly: 

"Militaire, hah!" 

We looked round, not thinking for a moment 
that it concerned us, when we discovered the 
speaker was a fiery-looking captain of chasseurs 
a cheval — and that he was calhng out to our soldier 
companion. Although we were, as I said, already 
late for our train, there was nothing for him to do 
but halt as he was told to do. The captain came 
up to him and said gruffly : 

" Stand at attention. Why didn't you salute 
me as you passed just now.'^ " 

" I'm very sorry, mon capitaine," replied our 
friend humbly, " but I was in such a hurry that I 
didn't see you." 

" In such a hurry that you didn't see me, was 
it ? " retorted the officer. " Well, I'll give you time 
to do it now. You will right about turn, take a 
hundred paces, return, and salute me, allons. 
Marchez." 

Everybody round about stopped to watch the 
curious and unusual scene. It was very amusing 

213 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

and interesting to them no doubt, but not so to 
us, as it meant that our day was spoih. Of course 
our friend had absolutely no alternative but to 
obey. So we stood by whilst he mechanically did 
what he had been ordered to, as of course we would 
not leave him. And when he had finished, the 
officer, who had been watching him grimly to see 
that he did the movement correctly, said to him : 

" This will teach you in future to keep your 
eyes open — however much you may be in a 
hurry." 

Several people standing round expressed their 
opinion that, although he was undoubtedly in his 
right, from the point of view of military discipline, 
he had perhaps been a little too severe, and that 
it would not have hurt him to have taken no 
notice of so trivial a breach of it, considering the 
circumstances. 

Needless to add, we missed our train. 
But revenons a nos moutons — or rather to Moret. 
I spent a few delightful days there — as it is cer- 
tainly one of the most picturesque spots in the 
neighbourhood of Fontainebleau ; the fact of its 
being overrun with artists is sufficient proof of 
this. My friend's house was very old and quaint. 
I well remember my delight in looking out of my 
bedroom window the first morning I was there. 
The view was magnificent, and quite unexpected, 
as when we had arrived it was late at night, and 

to all appearances, as far as one could make out 

214 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

in the dark, the house was quite an ordinary build- 
ing, and level with the road. To my surprise I 
saw that it was built in the side of an extremely 
steep hill, with extensive gardens running down in 
terraces to the river, some distance away. The 
entrance-hall was, as it were, on the top floor, and 
one went downstairs to the principal rooms, which 
conveyed a most curious impression. 

Owing to the unfortunate mishap on the way, 
and the loss of my palette and paints, I was not 
able to do any work, so contented myself with 
taking it easy, and as there was plenty to see, and 
both my friend and I were champion flaneurs, we 
managed to pass away the time very easily. It is 
curious how pleasant it is to loll idly over the 
parapet of an old bridge, and gaze at the running 
stream beneath you, especially on a warm sunny 
morning. The French word flaner describes this 
sort of occupation very succinctly, and it is curious 
how easily the habit is acquired. No previous ex- 
perience, knowledge, or any mental effort are 
necessary. It comes quite naturally to one. All 
that is requisite for a full enjoyment of this gift is 
a bridge, or, failing that, any low wall — and both 
these adjuncts were to be found in the quaint old 
town of Moret, so it was a typical place to idle in. 



215 



CHAPTER XVII 

Chang-ing characteristics of Mantmartre — Advent of music— 
The Divan Japonais — The opening night — A merry 
evening — The orchestra — The audience oblige on the 
piano — An impromptu dance — Going round Montmartre — 
A " chinois sur le zinc " — The gargon de marchand de 
vins — An unexpected musical talent — The garcon becomes 
a great pianist — Christmas in Montmartre — A party in 
studio in the Rue Bochard de Saron — Artistic arrange- 
ments — I give an impromptu ventriloquial entertainment 
— Extraordinary effect — " All's well that ends well " — 
Another incident — A duel by arrangement — Drawing lots 
— An unexpected climax. 

With the closing of the Cafe de la Rochefoucauld 
there came about a great change in our life in 
Montmartre ; the place had so long exercised an 
influence, as it were, on our daily habits, that it is 
no exaggeration to state that we felt like fish out of 
water for some time after that final dinner in the 
old place. It was not easy to fill up the hiatus | 
and still less to find another place of rendezvous 
which would, even to a certain extent, replace the 
familiar surroundings we had so long been accus- 
tomed to. Of cafes in Montmartre there were of 
course no end ; every street almost has its own 
particular etablissement, which is practically the 

216 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

club of its regular habitues, who are usually resi- 
dents in the immediate neighbourhood — and who 
are always to be found there at certain times. 

It was thus with the Rochefoucauld; therefore 
the hardship to its clientele its closing entailed can 
be better appreciated. We found ourselves practi- 
cally out in the street, and with but Httle hope of 
ever being again united in the cheery camaraderie 
we had so long enjoyed. I and my particular pals 
drifted somehow to the Nouvelle Athenes on the 
Place Pigalle, where for some time we had been 
in the habit of going for an aperitif and a chat 
before dinner. In the evenings we generally 
managed to put in a cheery time going round to 
the different cafes, and looking up friends in other 
quarters. 

But a change was slowly but surely coming over 
Montmartre, and one could not but notice it; the 
old life was not what it was — there were signs of a 
restlessness that was scarcely in keeping with what 
one might term the traditions of the district, and 
this was beginning to be more noticeable in cafe 
life. The most significant symptoms of this 
unrest was the advent of music, not only in 
the etablissements de nuit which were gradually 
springing up, but in the cafes and brasseries with 
which the Quartier was becoming more and more 
supplied. When I had first taken up my abode 
in the neighbourhood music was unknown almost 
in any of the cafes along the Boulevard's exterieurs 

217 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

near the Place Pigalle, and had such an innova- 
tion been suggested to any of the proprietors of 
these estabHshments it would have been received 
and dismissed with a shrug of the shoulders. 

The opening of the " Chat Noir " had, however, 
in a large measure started the change, not only in 
the Quartier, but also in the ideas of its inhabi- 
tants. Perhaps about the first of the cafes where 
music was introduced was at one called the Divan 
Japonais in the Rue Lepic — if I remember rightly, 
for it has long ceased to exist — and it caught on 
at once. I recollect the proprietor gave a big 
house-warming on the opening night, and we were 
all invited — and had a merry evening. 

Everything in the shape of drinks and smokes 
was free up till a certain hour, and as this was 
known beforehand, most of the guests were there 
early, and were very thirsty till the end of the 
reception. There was a small orchestra consist- 
ing of pianist, a portly cornet player, and a 'cellist ; 
and when they got tired, volunteers with musical 
talent and otherwise from amongst the audience 
obliged on the piano, and the opening ceremony 
ended with an impromptu dance, rather an inno- 
vation for a cafe in those days. 

Talking of music reminds me of an interesting 
incident that occurred about this time. One even- 
ing a party of us were going round Montmartre — 
and when I mention that there were several pretty 
girls with us it is scarcely necessary to add that 

2l8 




IX THE E\-EXIXGS WE GENERALLY MANAGED TO PUT IX A CHEERY 
TIME G.OING ROUND TO THE DIFFERENT CAFES." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

we were having a lively time as usual. Suddenly, 
as we were going along the Boulevard Roche- 
chouart, someone suggested our going to a 
marchand de vin we knew of, and having a 
" chinois sur le zinc " — in other words, a prunes 
a I'eau de vin — across the counter. Many wine- 
shops in the Quartier made a speciality of these 
delicacies in those days. So we made for the 
particular establishment — a very unpretentious 
little place in a back street close by. There was 
no one there at the moment, and our irruption 
seemed to divert the patron hugely — as these 
wineshops are usually only frequented by ouvriers. 
As we were standing at the bar taking our con- 
sommations, amidst much laughter, for as no 
spoons are provided one has to use one's fingers, 
we noticed a piano in a small room adjoining ; so 
we all went in, and someone who fancied himself 
as a pianist started playing a lively tune which set 
us singing. The patron came and stood at the 
door, smoking a pipe, and with his hands in his 
pockets ; he was evidently very much interested 
in his unusual clients. After a few minutes he 
remarked that if we would like to hear some good 
music he had a gar^on who would play to us. 

" Send him along," we cried, tickled at the idea 
of a gargon de marchand de vins being a musician 
as well. 

" Jean," he called out, " venez faire un peu de 
musique pour ces dames et messieurs/* 

219 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

An extremely good-looking young fellow of 
about twenty appeared in his shirt sleeves. After 
a little ironical and jocular persuading on our part, 
for it seemed to us too funny for words, and he 
must have known we were laughing at him, he sat 
down to the instrument. I shall never forget the 
look on the faces of my companions as soon as he 
commenced. He was a born musician — a positive 
genius. We all looked at each other and stood 
spellbound. The joke, if any, was on his side 
now. Without faltering, and yet in the most 
modest manner, he played a most complicated 
morceau by Chopin, a piece one would have 
expected to hear at a concert. When he had 
finished there was a great outburst of genuine 
applause. Our fun at his expense was changed to 
amazement, and we crowded round him, all anxious 
to know how and where he had managed to attain 
his marvellous ability ; and learned to our surprise 
that he was quite self-taught. He told us that he 
hoped one day to get into the Conservatoire of 
Music if he could manage to save up sufficient 
money. From this moment he was the centre of 
attraction, to the ladies particularly — and he played 
and played to their hearts' content, for his repertoire 
appeared limitless. 

The patron meanwhile stood by with an air of 
pride. 

" What did I tell you ! " he exclaimed. " I knew 
I was not exaggerating." 

220 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IIN PARIS 

Some of us had a talk with him aside, and he 
told us the young fellow — who was not a Parisian 
— had only been with him a short time ; that he 
had a good reference when he came, but beyond 
that he knew nothing about him. Then, turning 
to the rest of the party, he made the good-humoured 
but curious suggestion that as he was about 
to close we might like to take the musician 
with us and show him a bit of the Quartier, 
as he was new to Paris. We could not 
well refuse after having been thus entertained, 
so we got him to come along ; and when he had 
put on his coat and hat he looked a very gentle- 
manly and well-bred young fellow, and we almost 
got jealous of the attentions the ladies lavished 
on him. A few days later I was passing the wine- 
shop and noticed the patron standing at the door ; 
when he saw me he called out laughingly, " What 
have you done with my gargon ? " 

I stopped to ask what he meant — when, to my 
surprise, he informed me that he had not seen the 
gargon since the evening we had taken him away 
with us. I assured him I knew nothing whatever of 
his whereabouts, and was much astonished at his 
mysterious disappearance. That evening I learned 
that one of our friends had been so much impressed 
with the extraordinary talent of the youth, that he 
had interested himself on his behalf, and forthwith 
gave him an introduction to one of the leading 
men of the Conservatoire ; his career, therefore, 

221 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

as a gargon de cafe was ended, for he had been 
taken up by a rich man, and would be able in 
future to carry out his cherished desire to study 
music seriously. This is a great many years ago. 
The erstwhile garcon de cafe is now one of the 
greatest pianists of the world. 

That Christmas was very lively. On one occa- 
sion a lot of us had dined together and had gone 
on to the Elysee Montmartre later, as there was 
a fete on. We were all in great spirits, and went 
round afterwards and finished up the evening, or 
rather what was left of the night, at a friend's 
studio close by in the Rue Bochard de Saron. 
There was quite a little crowd of us, and several 
pretty models also. We had invited ourselves, 
as we knew there was a piano. Our friend had 
told us he had nothing to offer us in the shape of 
refreshment — probably to put us off, as it was a 
bit late even for the Quartier — but we were not 
to be got rid of so easily. We all armed ourselves 
with bottles of wine, saucisses, cheese, fruit, and 
bread, which we bought at the cafe — all that one 
could want for an impromptu supper ; after which 
we formed up in mock military formation on the 
Boulevard, someone took command, then to the 
accompaniment of a cheery march, which we sang 
in chorus, we all stepped out in grand style. 

I have often thought since how absolutely 
impossible such goings-on would have been in 
staid old London — even in the most artistic 

222 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

quarter — five or six years ago ; only fancy such a 
procession at three in the morning in, let us say, 
St John's Wood. One can imagine the denoue- 
ment, and where it would have taken place. But 
in those days in Montmartre the police seldom 
interfered with artists, unless it was for some very 
flagrant breach of the regulations. And singing 
or, rather, making a noise at night, was not con- 
sidered a very serious offence, especially during 
the festive season. The ebulhtion of youth did 
not suffer much restriction at the hands of the law, 
therefore, so long as it did not go too far. 

Well, we got to the studio, and fixed up quite 
an imposing supper table with what we had 
brought with us in the way of food and liquid. 
It made quite a great display. We then dis- 
covered, however, the reason for our friend's 
reticence in inviting us to his studio for the supper, 
as he suddenly remembered that he had broken 
his only glass that afternoon, and had no plates 
or knives and forks. Everything was down in the 
country — so he said. This was a bit of a shock ; 
but a la guerre comme a la guerre, and we were 
preparing to " pig it " when someone exclaimed 
" Eureka," and pointed to the pottery and swords 
and bayonets decorating the walls. In spite of our 
host's protests that they were thick with the dust 
of ages, down they came ; the girls wiped them en 
a towel, and with an old china bowl as a loving-cup 
we sat down to the banquet. It was indeed an 

223 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

artistic arrangement, the swords and bayonets 
serving as knives and forks, a sh'"et as a tablecloth, 
and towels as napkins. 

We were a boisterous and merry crew, and very 
soon the girls were somewhat in a state of des- 
habille. I may here mention that I was always a 
bit of a ventriloquist; and whilst we were in the 
midst of the banquet, and the studio resounding 
with laughter, it suddenly occurred to me to knock 
loudly on the entrance-door, which was immedi- 
ately at my back. This was easily done with the 
hilt of a sword which I held behind me; no one 
noticed my movement. 

Immediately the din ceased. 

" What's that ? " the women whispered, ner- 
vously arranging their disordered attire. 

I again knocked in a peremptory manner. 

Our host held up his hand to enjoin our keeping 
silent ; then shouted out : 

"Who's there?" 

Everyone naturally looked towards the door, 
not knowing what was going to happen next, for it 
was no friendly knock I had given. I turned also — 
which, of course, hid any movement of my lips. 

" I am the Commissaire of Police ; open in the 
name of the law," I called out, making my. voice 
appear to come from outside, and then looked 
round to see the effect of my joke. It was magical, 
and surpassed anything of the kind I had ever 
attempted before. I could not have believed it 

224 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

possible for people to be taken in so completel}^. 
Consternation was on every face. Our friend 
whispered hurriedly: 

" Let's gather up all the things ; he must not 
see I've been having a party. And you girls had 
better go and hide somewhere in my room or in 
the kitchen. Someone has evidently been to the 
police station and made a complaint about the row 
at this time of night. I was afraid it would happen." 

I could hardly keep my countenance, but I 
managed to give another and still louder knock — 
and called out: 

" Allons, ouvrez je vous dis." 

At this the girls nearly went into hysterics, and 
made a wild scramble for the inner room ; and the 
men hastily collected the remains of the feast. 
They all seemed to lose their heads — for why, I 
couldn't make out, for a moment's reflection would 
have convinced them that we were not breaking 
the law by having an impromptu supper-party with 
some models in a studio. 

Emboldened by the success of my joke, I called 

out in a brave tone to the imaginary Commissaire : 

" All right ; don't be angry. Monsieur. I am 

going to open the door directly " ; and was about 

to suit the action to my words when to my further 

amazement, my friend, who was a very powerful 

chap, rushed forward, and seizing me roughly by 

the arms, held me back, saying in a voice harsh 

with excitement: 

225 p 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

" Are you mad ? Do you want to get us all into 
trouble ? You mustn't open the door till the girls 
are out of the way ! " 

I pretended to struggle with him; at the same 
time calling out again loudly to the Commissaire 
that I was going to open the door, but my comrade 
would not let me. This time a heavy hand was 
placed over my mouth to prevent me saying more. 
I felt it was time to conclude my entertainment, 
or I might get hurt. I wrenched myself free, and, 
roaring with laughter, told them that it was only a 
little joke of mine. 

" A joke," they all repeated — and the girls 
peeped in at the door on hearing the word 
" plaisanterie." "Where does the joke come in? 
Please don't make a fool of yourself; we don't 
want to get into the hands of the police if you do." 

Never had I dreamed that my humble effort could 
have been so successful. It was only with the 
greatest difficulty that I convinced them that there 
really was no one outside. It was the funniest 
joke I ever attempted — and for a long while after 
it was talked about, and I was continually being 
called upon to speak to strangers who had got lost 
up the chimney, or locked in dark cellars, and 
couldn't get out. 

All our joking did not, however, always end so 
happily. One one occasion there might have been 
an i: -^'easantness if not tragedy. It came about 

this wise. 

226 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

Several of us were in the Nouvelle Athenes one 
evening when someone, who was reading a paper, 
remarked that there appeared to be quite an 
epidemic of duelHng in Paris at the time. One 
read of duels in the papers every day. 

" It's all an advertisement," said someone else ; 
" no one ever gets hurt, or very seldom at any 
rate." 

This led to a lively discussion on the easy way 
a man could gain a reputation for being a duellist 
and a man of great courage. 

" It's the simplest thing in the world ; you've only 
got to arrange everything carefully and systemati- 
cally beforehand — a pubHc insult, exchange of 
cards, appointment of seconds, meeting arranged, 
then two shots fired at the regulation distance but 
with blank cartridge — and honneur est satisfaite. 
The adversaries shake hands and go off with their 
seconds to a nice little lunch somewhere — and all 
the papers would speak about the affaire." 

The idea struck us all as being so original and 
fraught with such possibilities that someone sug- 
gested what a splendid joke it would be to have 
a duel in our own set. The idea was taken up 
with enthusiasm ; and we started to arrange the 
details for it to come off that evening. It was settled 
that we should draw lots to decide who were to be 
the principals. Every part in connection with the 
duel was written on small pieces of paper, put into 

a hat, and we agreed to abide by the result. I 

227 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

drew one of the " seconds," someone else " the 
doctor," and so on. The principals turned out to 
be two burly fellows who would look very impres- 
sive in their role. 

When this was done, a long discussion ensued 
as to the most effective and theatrical way of bring- 
about the spoof result. This was somewhat diffi- 
cult to decide on, but at length it was settled that 
the two principals should be sitting playing picquet 
in a cafe and a quarrel should occur between them ; 
we would all interfere, and then suddenly one of 
them would spring up and pretend to smack the 
other across the mouth, whereupon he would 
instantly produce his card and hand it across the 
table, saying that his seconds would wait on 
his aggressor the following day. It worked out 
capitally; we had a dress rehearsal there and 
then — and were so elated at its realism that we 
decided to carry it out at once ; and one of our 
party, a journalist, promised to send an account 
of the " incident " at once to the papers, so as to 
prepare the public for a bloodthirsty duel. I 
forgot to mention that the man who had drawn the 
paper which assigned to him the part of the insulted 
party was a somewhat peppery and very conceited 
individual, just the sort of chap who would be 
likely to get into trouble. 

Well, off we started for the cafe, where the pre- 
liminary proceedings in the way of the smack in 

the face and exchange of cards were to take place, 

228 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

We had chosen one some Httle distance away — in 
order to run no risk of meeting anyone hkely to 
know us. As we went along we rehearsed our 
various parts. At last we arrived at the cafe, and 
just as we were going in the " insulted " party, who 
had been very silent as we came along, suddenly 
stopped us and said, " Let's clearly understand 
what I've got to do — so as not to make any 
mistake." 

" Well, it's very easy to remember," replied his 
" aggressor." " You call me a sacre couillon or 
anything worse than that if you can think of any- 
thing ; I jump up and smack you across the mouth 
and you then pull out your card and hand it to me." 

" After I've hit you back? " 

" Of course not — you don't hit me at all; that's 
part of the compact that leads to the duel." 

" Oh, don't I ? Well, I'm not going to let you 
hit me without returning it, compact or no compact 
— so I warn you. I'll hand you my card after- 
wards." 

That duel was off. 



229 



CHAPTER XVIII 

Some strange examples of Bohemianism — The hidden treasure 
— An unexpected meeting after several years — A pathetic 
story — The dead child — Another incident — A bad-tempered, 
jealous woman and a meek artist — The worm turns at 
last — A dramatic ending to a collage — Perverted Bohem- 
ianism — The young student and the married woman — 
Ruin and disgrace — The usurers of the Quartier Latin — 
Their hunting-ground and their agents — The spider and 
the fly — Speculative risks of money-lenders — Cherchez la 
femm£ — Contrast between Paris and London — Student life. 

Whilst I was living in Montmartre I came across 
some strange examples of Bohemianism amongst 
the artists. Here is one, for instance, which I 
think would be hard to beat ; anyhow, it proves, if 
nothing else, that truth is often more curious than 
fiction. 

A painter I knew very well was living en menage 
with a petite amie in a small studio on the Boule- 
vard de Clichy. He was one of the lucky ones to 
this extent, that he had a small income of his own 
— very small, but sufficient to prevent him from 
starving. Still, h^ had to be very careful indeed ; 
otherwise he had great difficulty in getting through 
every quarter till his next remittance arrived. 

Occasionally, however, he was lucky enough to 

230 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

earn a little extra with a portrait or with a black- 
and-white drawing; and on these occasions, with 
the usual insouciance of the artist, he would have 
a " bust up " — " II s'en payait pendant quelques 
jours," as he used to put it. And he and his amie 
would have a real good time whilst the unexpected 
funds lasted. It was no doubt stupid ; but, as I 
have said, he could never actually starve whatever 
happened, so there was no particular reason for 
him to save money. 

Well, it was shortly after one of these festive 
occasions and when the quarter was barely com- 
menced, that he found himself " dans la puree la 
plus epaisse." It was Carnival time, and the 
money had simply melted away, and one morning, 
after an especially lurid night of revelry, he found 
himself confronted with a peremptory demand from 
his proprietaire for the rent of the studio without 
delay — and he had not got the wherewithal to meet 
it. As a rule, his landlord was not in a hurry for 
his money; but this time he was not incHned to 
be lenient. He had just received a letter from a 
rich uncle from whom he had expectations saying 
he would be in Paris shortly after, and that inspired 
confidence in the future ; but the immediate pres- 
ent had to be dealt with — what should he do ? His 
landlord, as he knew from experience, was one of 
those obdurate individuals who, when they take it 
into their heads to collect the rent due to them, 

know no delay; and it may here be mentioned 

231 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

that in France the law gives the landlord full power 
to distrain, if he is so minded, within a few minutes 
of rent becoming due. 

The concierge, who usually acts as his agent 
and collects the rent, waited patiently for a little 
while, and then said that unless the money was 
forthcoming by midday he would have to report to 
the landlord and a distraint would be put in. What 
was to be done ? My friend's first impulse was to 
rush out and endeavour to borrow the money from 
some of his pals — and started off at once on what 
turned out to be, as may be imagined, a futile ex- 
pedition, as they were none of them much better 
situated than he was. He returned to the studio 
full of wild ideas of suicide, and so forth ; for a 
distraint meant that all his worldly belongings 
must go. 

He and his amie sat and gazed at each other in 
mute despair. This then was the end of their little 
love dream — to be turned into the street and with 
nowhere to go to for the sake of this paltry sum 
for the rent. Could nothing be done to avert the 
disaster.^ — for if it happened and his uncle arrived 
to find him in such a plight it was certain that all 
expectations in his will would be quashed. A 
strait-laced provincial such as he was would never 
forgive such a disgrace on the part of a nephew. 

The time went by on wings, and it was already 

eleven o'clock ; only one hour now separated them 

from the dreaded denouement — yet they were no 

232 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

nearer getting the money than they were to the 
moon. His amie went and sat on his knee and 
affectionately placing her arm round his neck, 
kissed him tenderly and hinted at the sweetness 
of their dying together. Their tears mingled. 
Suddenly she gave a little shriek, and jumping up 
rushed to the corner of the studio, and with an 
exclamation of wild dehght, held up a golden louis 
she had seen shining on the floor. 

Here was indeed a bit of luck, for, at any rate, 
it was something towards the necessary sum; but 
how it had come there, for it was certainly unusual 
to find money lying on the floor of a studio. Who 
could have dropped it? No artist friend and no 
one likely to possess superfluous wealth had been 
there for days. 

All of a sudden my friend gave a positive yell 
of delight. " We are saved," he called out, 
" saved." 

"How? " asked his amie in an amazed tone. 

"Yes, saved," he repeated excitedly, and em- 
bracing her joyfully. " There's enough not only 
to pay the rent, but to have a bit over — here in the 
studio." 

"In the studio," she reiterated, with a thoroughly 
puzzled air. 

" Yes, we've only got to look for it — it's here for 
the finding." Then he explained how some 
months previously he had had an unexpected slice 
of good-luck and had made several hundred francs, 

233 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

and was so elated at his sudden accession to wealth 
that the idea had occurred to him to lay by a certain 
amount against a rainy day ; and as he had no place 
where he had considered the money would be quite 
safe, and where he could not get at it too easily, 
he had suddenly conceived the extraordinary idea 
of putting it in odd places haphazard about the 
studio, so that when he was hard up there would 
be a certain amount of sport in hunting for it. He 
had carried out his idea by shutting his eyes and 
throwing a louis here, a ten-franc piece there, and 
so on, till he had practically hidden a couple of 
hundreds francs in this way. As he did not employ 
a femme de menage, and no one came into the 
studio but his amie, the floor, dirty though it was, 
was therefore under the circumstances a veritable 
mine of riches. The curious part of the affair was 
that he had completely forgotten the existence 
of this hoard until the louis had providentially 
turned up. 

When the concierge returned shortly before 
midday for the rent, the look of astonishment on 
his face may be imagined when he found the pair 
on their hands and knees on the floor, covered with 
dirt, and groping here and there and everywhere 
in feverish haste amongst the rubbish with which 
the studio was littered. When, however, he 
learned the reason of it all his astonishment 
turned to amusement, and he good-naturedly 
offered to give them another hour or so to enable 

234 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

them to find the requisite amount, as it was still a 
few francs short ; but even whilst he was speaking 
it turned up, and so " la situation etait sauvee," as 
he put it. 

Bohemianism in Paris, however, had often a 
pathetic aspect, and at times revealed depth of 
character that would perhaps have never been 
known to exist had the conditions of living been 
otherwise. This was more frequently noticeable 
in the women; possibly for the reason that with 
the men their life in the Quartier was but a passing 
stage, as it were, and seldom left any lasting im- 
pression. A pretty girl, a broken heart, were of 
but small import when the grande question of one's 
career was to the fore. I recollect a particularly 
touching incident in this connection. 

I was dining one day at a large brasserie with a 
friend who had not long returned from the 
Colonies. He was a Government engineer and 
many years my senior, but somehow in spite of the 
disparity of our ages we had become great pals, and 
frequently went about together. We had not long 
been seated when a waiter came up to my friend 
and told him that a lady at a table near us was 
trying to attract his attention. Naturally we both 
looked in her direction, and I saw a very pretty 
young woman smile towards my friend and v^ave 
her hand in greeting. To my surprise, on seeing 
her, he gave a sort of gasp as though he had 
received a shock, and although he stood up and 

235 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

genially returned her salutation, I could see he 
was deadly pale and looked terribly upset at the 
meeting. As the lady was dining with a gentleman 
whom he evidently did not know, there was of 
course no excuse for him to go across to her table. 
When he resumed his seat he gulped down a glass 
of water and muttered half aloud : 

" Who would have thought of coming across her 
here after all these years ? " 

I said nothing, feeling it was best for him to tell 
me anything he cared to. I had no desire to 
intrude on his privacy. He was silent for some 
minutes, then turned to me and said : 

" You must excuse me, mon vieux, for being so 
distrait, but it is plus fort que moi. I cannot help 
it ; you cannot imagine all she was to me once, and 
to see her with another man upsets me beyond 
words, although it is many years since I last 
saw her." 

" You were very fond of her then ? " I remarked. 

" Yes indeed ; and I believe she cared more for 
me than anyone else in the world." 

" Then how did you come to break it off? " 

" Well, my father got to hear of my Haison and 
determined to end it, though I did not reaHse it 
then ; so when my time was up at the Ecole Poly- 
technique, he got me, through the influence of a 
friend at the Ministere, a mission d'etude de mines 
in the Senegal, and as I was absolutely dependent 
on my allowance I had no alternative but to 

236 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

accept. I was to be away for three years — with 
the possibility of a good Colonial post to follow. 
Marcelle, that's the name of the little girl over 
there, was naturally very upset, but was too good- 
hearted and sensible to wish to stand in the way 
of my getting on in my career ; but — here was the 
trouble — she was in a certain condition, and I was 
far too fond of her to leave her in any doubt with 
regard to the future — so I arranged that she should 
receive a certain sum every month through a great 
friend of mine. She was not an extravagant 
girl, so there would be ample for her needs, 
whatever happened. 

" Well, I went off, and was away in the interior 
several months, where no letters could reach me. 
At last I got back to the coast, and amongst a 
packet of correspondence were several from her, 
in which she told me how much she missed me — 
and hoped I would come back to her safely ; and 
then another in which she wrote that our child had 
been born, but had only lived for three months, 
that after its death she had decided to go back to 
her parents in the country — that they had forgiven 
her everything ; and she ended by wishing me good- 
luck and so on. A long letter, brimming over with 
affection ; but somehow I had an idea, on reading 
it, that there was something in her mind — some- 
thing that the mere words did not express. I had 
heard of a woman's nature changing under certain 
conditions; and so it turned out in this instance, 

237 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

for that was the last letter I received from her, 
although I wrote time after time." 

There was a long pause, and then he suddenly 
added, as though he had been recaUing his 
souvenirs, " You have no idea, mon vieux, how 
one suffers when one is far away and in the wilds, 
and one is waiting for a letter from someone one 
loves and it never comes ; the days drag on with 
maddening slowness — and then the mail again 
arrives and still there is nothing. One is so help- 
less, for what can one do? — nothing but hope on 
against hope. And so it was with me, and the 
years passed by with no further sign. She might 
have been dead for all I knew. And at last when 
I got leave and returned to France and Paris, my 
first idea was to seek her. I had been thinking 
it over for so many months in the long days in the 
Bush — and was so looking forward to our meeting ; 
but she had left no address, and I had no notion 
where her parents lived — except that it was some- 
where near Chaumont, a very vague indication. 
Besides which I knew the name she went by at the 
theatre was not her own. Well, the time passed 
by and my leave was up, and I went back to the 
coast for another spell, and stayed away two years ; 
and here I am de retour — and we suddenly meet 
like this. Strange, is it not? " 

I agreed with him that it certainly was very 
extraordinary after their affectionate relationship, 

and took a furtive glance towards the lady who had 

238 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

taken such a hold on his life. She was certainly 
very pretty and evidently a charming personality 
as well. Her companion was a young fellow 
almost of her own age, and appeared to be devoted 
to her; and that there had been no secret in her 
knowing my friend was evident by the manner in 
which he frankly looked in our direction. We had 
not yet finished our dinner when I saw them get- 
ting up to leave, and she beckoned to my com- 
panion to go over and speak to her. He went 
with alacrity, his face beaming. I carefully re- 
frained from looking at their meeting, as I did not 
wish to appear inquisitive ; but I could not help 
noticing that her companion walked on so as to 
leave her alone. 

My friend was not gone long, and when he 
returned to his seat I noticed his eyes were full 
of tears. 

" It's all over," he said in a hoarse voice. " That's 
her husband with her — she's been married nearly 
three years. I asked her why she had not written 
again and she told me she had thought it best when 
the child died that our liaison should end, so that I 
should be quite free. Quite free!" he repeated 
bitterly, talking to himself. " Why should she 
have thought that — ^when I was always thinking 
of her? And then," he continued, turning to me, 
" she showed me a little locket she said she wears 
always, and in which is a lock of our child's hair. 
She was passionately devoted to her baby and was 

239 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

very ill after it died. I wanted her to come and 
see me now and again as old friends, but she 
refused — ' the past was buried/ she told me 
signi£cantly ; and her husband is too good to her 
for her to wish to cause him pain — in fact he knew 
all about it, and had allowed her to. speak to me, 
as he trusted her implicitly. She had felt she 
wanted to shake hands with me and tell me how 
pleased she was to hear I was back safely and 
doing so well in my work ; but we must not speak 
to each other again. Nothing I could say would 
change her resolve. Then she said she must not 
keep her husband waiting, so must say good-bye 
and run away. Then just as she was going 
she came back and told me, in a low tone, with 
tears in her eyes : ' Do you know, dear, that if he 
had lived he would have been seven years old now ; 
it was the anniversary of his death last week, and 
I came up to Paris specially so that I could go 
and put some flowers on his grave, as I have done 
every year, and as I shall always do.' " 

His voice sunk to a hoarse whisper, thick with 
deep emotion, and I had to turn away to avoid 
letting him see how deeply his story had affected 
me also. 

Of course it was somewhat exceptional to meet 
girls of this description, and I knew several men 
whose lives were simply little hells owing to the 
temperament of the women they had got inextric- 
ably mixed up with — one in particular who could 

240 




"she was of so jealous a nature." 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

scarcely call his soul his own. His maitresse was 
extravagant to such a degree that although he was 
fairly well off he was always hard up, and had to 
have recourse to all sorts of shifts to get money to 
satisfy her wants principally. If she saw any- 
thing she took a fancy to, she was like a child 
crying for a toy ; she must have it— otherwise there 
was a row, and he was all that was mean and con- 
temptible, for she could come out under very slight 
provocation with language that would have shocked 
a dame des halles. Added to this, she was of so 
jealous a nature that she actually interfered with 
his work and forbade him to have models in his 
studio under any pretext. She would scratch his 
face at one moment, and then when she saw him 
bleeding would seize hold of him and devour him 
with kisses. She was what is aptly termed in 
France une femme impossible. 

I recollect lunching with him at his studio on 
one occasion, when there came a ring at the Sell ; 
immediately I could see her prick up her ears, so 
to speak — and when the femme de menage called 
him out to see the visitor it was a sign for trouble. 
Although I endeavoured to engage her in conver- 
sation whilst he was out of the room I could plainly 
see her thoughts were elsewhere. In her silly 
mind she was conjuring up all sorts of intrigues on 
his part ; and after a few minutes she could contain 
herself no longer, but jumped up, regardless of 
the fact that it was positive rudeness to me, her 

241 Q 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

guest, and bounced out of the room. She left the 
door open, so I could hear her calling out in a 
tone of suppressed rage: 

" Emile, qui as-tu dans I'atelier, viens ici tout 
de suite ? " 

Scenting the approaching storm, my friend came 
out looking very sheepish — as well he might, at 
being spoken to like that when he had a business 
acquaintance with him. With a humility for which 
I felt he ought to have been kicked, he explained 
that he would only be engaged a few moments 
longer, and begging his cherie to excuse him ; but 
she was not to be placated. 

" Viens tout de suite — j'ai a te parler " 

I could then hear the man who was with him 
saying significantly he would call again some other 
time when Monsieur was not engaged — and my 
friend had not the moral courage to detain him. 

When we were again seated at the table the 
storm broke forth, and to my surprise, for I could 
see no cause for jealousy, or in fact any unpleas- 
antness, his mistress flatly accused him of having 
the man call to arrange for him " to meet some 
young girls." " Tu ne penses qu'a cela ? " she 
continued, working herself up into a fury. 

There was, of course, not the slightest cause for 

all this scene. My friend was the last man in the 

world to have such thoughts or to dream of having 

anyone call on him she objected to ; but it could 

not be expected that he should turn away business 

242 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

callers. But with her any pretext was sufficient to 
start a quarrel upon, and she had gradually ended 
by alienating even his most intimate friends ; they 
used to say that it made them feel positively sick 
to see a man reduced to the condition of a mere 
worm under the heel of this woman. 

I was one of the last of his friends to visit them 
— as somehow I exercised a sort of placating influ- 
ence over her, and I was the only one she admitted 
she trusted with her amant. I believe she actually 
considered me as incapable of any penchant for the 
fair sex — so if I suggested taking him to the cafe 
for an aperitif without her she would graciously 
condescend to confide him to my care. " Avec 
vous au moins il n'y a pas de danger," she would 
say with a half-sneer which galled me beyond 
words, and I determined to get even with her. It 
was on these rare occasions when I got him 
alone that I used to try and instil a little pluck 
into him. 

" What do you see in her that you stand all this 
continual nagging and rowing. She is no longer 
young or particularly good-looking ; has she then 
some hidden charm that makes up for her awful 
character ? " I once ventured to ask. 

The poor fellow shrugged his shoulders weakly. 
" Que voulez-vous ? " he replied. " We have got 
together somehow, and I suppose I must put up 
with it. I admit that Paula is a bit trying at times, 
but elle m'aime bien." 

243 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

"Well," I replied, "if that's love, and that 
is the way to prove it, I would rather be with- 
out it." 

The fact of the matter was that she completely 
terrorised him. She had frequently thrown out 
hints that if ever she even saw him speaking to 
another woman she would blind him with vitriol, 
and I verily believe she meant it. So he appar- 
ently resigned himself to his fate — for the time 
being, as will be seen. 

Well, this terrible existence continued for many 
months, during which the creature got, if possible, 
even worse tempered ; and at length became ob- 
sessed with the notion that everyone was conspiring 
to alienate her amant's affections from her — every- 
one except me bien entendu, for she still reposed 
blind confidence in me as an " impotent," scarcely 
worth considering. So I still continued to lunch 
or dine with them when I felt inclined. But I 
noticed a change coming over my friend; he was 
beginning to look drawn about the face and 
there was a strange look at times in his eyes 
when she started a scene — for we seldom sat 
down to a meal with any certainty of its ending 
pleasantly, however happily it may have been 
commenced. 

When he and I went to the cafe for our aperitif 

we would always discuss the situation. There was 

really no other topic of conversation under the 

circumstances ; and on one occasion I remember, 

244 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

after a particularly dreadful exhibition on her part, 
he wailed out plaintively to me, " Mon Dieu, com- 
ment cela va-t-il finir, que faut-t-il faire." 

I gripped his arm and said, " Be a man — that's 
the only advice I can give you," 

He sat very still, as though wrapped in thought, 
for some time ; then, as though he had come to a 
sudden resolve, he swallowed his aperitif, and turn- 
ing to me said abruptly, and in a tone of voice I 
scarcely recognised, " Tu as raison, mon vieux — 
come or we shall be late for dinner." 

When we reached the studio Paula met us at 
the door. I could see that she was still in one of 
her tantrums. 

"A nice time to get back," she vociferated; 
" dinner has been ready for over half an hour and 
everything will be spoiled as usual. Why do you 
let him keep you out so long, Julius," she said, 
turning to me. 

I protested that if there was any blame I would 
share it; but that we were not late at all, as I 
proved by my watch. 

" There you see, ma cherie," said Emile in a 
pacific tone, " your clock must be wrong — I knew 
we were not late." 

" Tais-toi et mettons nous a table ; we^l speak 
about this afterwards," she replied in a threatening 
tone. 

I endeavoured to laugh it off — but felt very 
uncomfortable. We sat down to dinner and were 

245 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

taking our soup, when she suddenly turned to my 
friend and said, " I insist on knowing what detained 
you so long at the cafe. I suppose it was some 
woman of your numerous acquaintances. Come, 
out with it — let's know who she was," she con- 
tinued, spoiling for a row. 

My friend protested that there was no woman 
in the question ; that we had merely taken our 
aperitifs together and had not spoken to a soul 
since we left her. But it was of no avail. 

" You are telling me a lie, and you know it," 
she cried. " However, only let me catch you at 
any game of that sort and I'll show you up in a 
way you little suspect, mon ami. So I warn you." 
My friend said nothing, but I saw from the pallor 
that came over him that he was labouring under 
intense excitement. 

She, however, saw nothing, but continued like 
a fury. "Will you reply to me, or will you not? 
Who was the woman you have just left.'' I insist 
on knowing her name ? " 

No reply. There was none to make. This 
silence seemed only to exasperate her the more; 
the bad language then commenced, as it always did 
with her when she let herself go. My friend then, 
in a supernaturally calm voice, which in itself 
should have warned her, ihen said gently : " Ma 
cherie, I beg of you not to forget yourself ; even if 
you ignore me, please remember that my friend is 
present." 

246 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

At this remark all the floodgates of her devilish 
temper were opened. 

" Ton ami, je mon f de tes amis comme je 

me f de toi sale enfant de " Here followed 

an insult levelled at his mother of such a nature 
that I refrain from writing it. Its effect was as 
though she had put a Hght to a powder magazine. 
My friend jumped up as if he had received 
an electric shock, and with a look of hatred in his 
eyes I shall never forget, he fairly yelled at her 
" Sale vache. You've gone too far this time," and 
without a moment's hesitation seized his glass of 
wine and flung it straight in her face. By a miracu- 
lous chance the glass itself missed her and smashed 
against the buffet behind ; but she received the full 
contents all over her, and was almost blinded for 
a second. 

" Get out of my place at once," he continued, 
fairly mad with rage, " or there will be murder 
done. I've put up with you and your damned 
temper long enough, so out you go at once — and 
to the devil. I give you five minutes to pack up 
and go. You hear me, you infernal b " 

To my utter astonishment, for I was on tenter- 
hooks as to what she would do, she got up, and 
wiping her face and bodice she retreated slowly 
and backwards towards the door — her eyes fixed 
steadily meanwhile on my friend. She appeared 
to be completely stunned at his unexpected out- 
burst of spirit after so many months of humility 

247 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

and weakness and giving in to her. She was 
like a wild animal that suddenly realises it has 
got a master; all her spirit and temper were 
gone. 

We stood and waited ; neither of us said a word. 
She reached the door, opened it with a mechanical 
sort of movement, and was gone. We heard her 
go into the bedroom and shut herself in ; then we 
sat down and looked at each other, wondering 
what was going to happen next. Ten minutes or 
so passed, then the door of the bedroom was opened 
and we heard her call out to the concierge below, 
" Madame will you be so good as to call a cab for 
me and come and give me a hand with my port- 
manteau ? " Then we heard luggage being taken 
downstairs, and the voice of the concierge asking 
if Madame was going away for long. " Yes," was 
the reply. " I am uncertain when I shall return." 
The outer door of the studio closed with a bang. 
As it did so, my friend who had been breathing 
heavily, jumped up calHng out, " Paula, Paula, oh 
reviens," and would have rushed to the door and 
after her had I not stood in his way and held 
him back. 

" Pm not going to let you make an imbecile of 
yourself," I cried. " You are well out of it at last, 
and you ought to think yourself very lucky to have 
got rid of such a w..man." 

He stood irresolute, undecided whether to 
attempt to force his way out. Then we heard the 

248 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

sound of the cab driving away. For a few seconds 
we neither of us moved, then to my utter amaze- 
ment he let himself drop into a chair by the table, 
and burying his face on his arms he sobbed con- 
vulsively like a child. It was the inevitable 
reaction — for he had loved the woman once, but 
I felt it would do him no good giving way to it, 
so after a while I touched him on the shoulder and 
said as firmly as I could, " Come, buck up, old 
man, and let's go out and get some dinner, because 
I'm famished." With an effort he pulled himself 
together, and after a meal and a good bottle of 
wine, he was quite himself again and we discussed 
the event dispassionately. That he had nothing 
to fear from her I was convinced; he had given 
her a fright which she was not likely to forget in a 
hurry. 

We returned to the studio late in the evening, 
as I had promised not to desert him that night, so 
would sleep on the sofa. We found that Paula 
had taken away everything belonging to her, even 
to her photograph. There was no sequel to the 
incident; for strange to relate from that day she 
disappeared as completely as if the earth had 
swallowed her up. Where she went to or what 
became of her was a complete mystery. As may 
be imagined, my friend evinced no desire to find 
another mistress after this experience. I lost sight 
of him for a time, and we did not meet again 

till one day some months later at the Salon. He 

249 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

rushed up to me and wrung my hand effusively. 
He was genuinely delighted to see me. 

" I must present you to my wife," he said after 
the first greetings. " She knows ail about that affair 
of Paula/' he told me as he led me to a settee where 
a buxom lady was seated. 

" This is my old friend Price," he said, as he 
introduced me to her. " My saviour," he added 
with a laugh. 

The lady shook me warmly by the hand and said 
graciously. " I need not tell you how pleased I 
am to meet you after all I know you did to help 
Emile to get rid of that dreadful creature." 

I recollect another instance of what may be 
termed perverted Bohemianism, but which ended 
very differently to what I have just described. It 
conveys, however, an idea of another aspect of 
student life which invests it with a certain morbid 
interest. 

A young etudiant fell in love with a married 
woman living in the Quartier, separated from her 
husband. She was many years older than her 
youthful amant, and had a child — a little girl eight 
years of age. His calf love developed into a 
veritable infatuation, and there was no Hmit to 
what he would do for her. She was a flashy 
woman, very fast, and with most extravagant ideas. 
Although she was fond of him in her way, she did 
not spare him or even attempt to dissuade him 
from spending all his extremely small allowance 

250 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

on her. Not the least curious part of his infatu- 
ation was the devotion he displayed for her child 
as well, and he became passionately attached to 
it. There was nothing he would not have done 
to give it pleasure, which naturally helped still 
further to increase the strain on his slender means. 

There could be but one ending to such a state 
of affairs. Every sou he possessed gradually 
went; he neglected his studies, and at last was 
reduced to borrowing small sums to meet his daily 
expenses, which had increased by leaps and bounds 
since he was living en menage. Then it got to 
his father's ears how he was living, as the money- 
lender had to be paid ; so he came to Paris, made 
a great scene, paid the money-lender, and took the 
boy back with him to the country for a time, in the 
hope that by so doing he would make him forget 
his youthful infatuation. 

After a few months of seclusion he allowed him 
to return to the Quartier to resume his studies, as 
he appeared to have become quite reconciled to 
his enforced separation ; but it turned out that all 
this while the youth had been keeping up a corres- 
pondence with his enchantress, and no sooner was 
he back in Paris than they met and he resumed his 
interrupted love-making. For some time after this 
he lived at a pace which was bound to end in 
disaster. She was more exigeante than ever. 
Jewellery, expensive dinners, theatres, excursions, 
were the order of the day. To satisfy these end- 

251 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

less demands of his maitresse, he had to obtain 
money somehow, by fair means or foul ; and as the 
money-lender was chary of advancing him any 
more after the scene with his father, he forged two 
names to two bills — one that of his father, the 
other that of a prominent tradesman in the town 
he came from — probably in the beHef that when 
they were presented his father would again pay up 
rather than have a scandal — for by this time, it is 
almost needless to add, his finer senses were com- 
pletely blunted, and, young as he was, he had 
begun to take to drink, and to mix with doubtful 
characters. 

Well, to cut an unpleasant story short, in due 
course the bills were presented, and his distraught 
parent, thinking to save the family honour, met the 
one bearing his signature ; but the tradesman whose 
name had also been forged had no such compunc- 
tions, and it passed into the hands of the police, 
and nothing could stop the subsequent legal 
proceedings — with the result that the embryo 
criminal was arrested and got three years' 
imprisonment. 

What became of him afterwards, when he had 

completed his sentence, I never heard definitely; 

but there were rumours of his having been seen 

prowling at night round the Boulevard's exterieurs 

in a garb which left but little doubt as to his manner 

of existence. One thing, however, was certain, 

and that was that his maitresse threw him over at 

252 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

the very first sign of trouble — although she was 
actually responsible for his downfall. 

It came to me as somewhat of a surprise, how 
easy it apparently was for a young fellow to obtain 
money whilst he was a student and with only a 
very limited allowance. Of course I had heard 
that it was possible if one was in the know to 
obtain temporary financial assistance without 
having recourse to the Mont de Piete, where the 
amount one could obtain would only be trifling; 
but to find that merely on a sort of note of hand 
sums running into quite a respectable figure were 
often handed over to students, who were still under 
age, was to me quite incomprehensible, and I 
sometimes wondered if I would be trusted likewise, 
but fortunately for me I never had occasion to 
ascertain. 

The Quartier Latin in those days, as I soon 
learned, was infested with usurers of the worst type ; 
and to my knowledge many a young etudiant's 
career was marred through his falling into the 
clutches of these human vampires. Of course this 
state of affairs may and probably does exist to this 
day, but I am only referring to my own time. I 
heard of many cases which would have been almost 
incredible had I not personally known of their 
absolute truth. The method with which these 
financiers carried out their operations was quite 
remarkable at times in its ingenuity, and no ex- 
pense apparently was spared in order to obtain 

253 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

exact information as to the means of the parents 
or guardians of the prospective victims. Once this 
was obtained and verified carefully, it was merely 
a question of time when the fly would walk into 
the parlour of the spider. A mistake was seldom 
made. In the Rue Monsieur le Prince, Rue 
Cujas, and the Rue St Jacques especially, were 
always to be found obliging gentlemen who would 
advance money at any moment on note of hand 
only — ^without security, as it appeared to the guile- 
less youth who was in temporary need of assist- 
ance. 

At all the big cafes there were agents of these 
money-lenders who worked on commission, and 
who therefore made it their daily business to ascer- 
tain the names of those students who were going 
the pace. Not infrequently these commission 
agents were women, and who therefore had a better 
chance of knowing what was going on than a man 
would have, as it was a comparitively easy matter 
for a woman to make friends with the amie of the 
victim. The cabinets de toilette at the different 
restaurants were a favourite hunting-ground of 
these harpies, as the attendant generally knew all 
that was going on in the Quartier. If such and 
such a girl's friend was known to be hard-up, in 
spite of his having a good allowance from home, 
then it was only a question of how much his father 
would be good for if the son could be induced to 
start borrowing. Little did these happy-go-lucky 

254 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

youths guess how much was already known of their 
affairs when they eventually made their way to the 
bureau of one of these money-lenders. 

In France there is a legal limit to the amount 
of interest that can be charged, but this could be 
easily overcome ; as, for instance, if a young man 
was suddenly pressed, say for a thousand francs, 
what was there to prevent him out of pure grati- 
tude for being helped out of his difficulties from 
giving a bill for fifteen hundred francs — payable 
on a certain date ? On the bill there would be no 
mention of the amount advanced, but merely what 
he owed. The odd five hundred francs might 
represent fifty per cent or more, but could not be 
disputed ; he acknowledged owing a certain 
amount, that settled it. 

As I have said, the patience and ingenuity dis- 
played by the usurers and their agents were often 
quite remarkable — and frequently quite well acted. 
I heard of one case of a young fellow, whose family 
was very rich, getting hard up. He had no 
maitresse attitree through whom he could be in- 
duced to go to a money-lender, so one of the 
prettiest girls of the Boulevard St Michel was got 
at, and eventually worked for one of them. It 
took some time to bring off the coup, but the quarry 
was worth it, and it was done this way. She was 
clever enough to play up to him and get him to 
take her about a good deal ; he was a generous, 
but extremely vain young fool, and she acted her 

255 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

part so well that he really beHeved he had found 
someone at last who loved him. Then at length 
came the eventful day. She arrived at his rooms 
in great trouble. She must have a certain sum by 
a certain hour to save her favourite brother who 
had done something foolish and would be arrested 
and go to prison if the money was not forthcoming. 
What could she do? She had not got it, so she 
had of course thought of her petit ami ; he would 
help her out of her great trouble. 

How could the ami, as a gentleman, avoid help- 
ing her, after the happy times they had spent to- 
gether ; but he was not in a position at the moment 
to do what she asked, however much he wanted 
to. He could not write home for the money as he 
had already overdrawn his allowance ; how could 
he get the sum she required ? 

Had he no friend who would oblige him? she 

would ask — knowing very well he had not. No, 

he knew of no one. Then a sudden inspiration 

came to her — she remembered that one of her 

friends had also an ami who suddenly wanted a few 

hundred francs; and he was told of a gentleman 

who took a great interest in students who would 

let him have them if he was satisfied he was a man 

of honour, and he got the money quite easily of 

course, and paid it back when his allowance came. 

She would go and see her friend at once, and find 

out the name and address of this gentleman ; and 

perhaps he would do the same this time also. 

256 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

What could the victim do but consent to do his 
petite amie a good turn ; and shortly after he was 
introduced to a very affable gentleman who was 
only too delighted to come to his assistance, and 
had put his coveted signature to a piece of paper 
which was but the forerunner of many more that 
were eventually taken up by his father, as had been 
conjectured would be the case. All this would 
seem a very roundabout method of getting hold of 
young spendthrifts, were it not, as I have pointed 
out, that in France it is only allowable by law to 
charge at a certain fixed amount for interest. In 
those days I believe it was only five per cent, but 
at any rate it was far too small to satisfy a money- 
lender, who was, of course, taking a speculative risk. 

The great saving clause, however, in France 
with regard to all these transactions is that borrow- 
ing on a reversion " sur une succession " is abso- 
lutely illegal. So whatever expectations a young 
etudiant might have, the money-lender could not 
reckon on his claim being settled out of them. If he 
chose to lend him money on a bill it was therefore 
with the knowledge that if the father or guardian 
or whoever supplied the allowance refused to setde 
for the youth, he had lost his money — as he had 
no claim against a minor. It seems a pity that 
such a law has not existed in England, as many 
a family would have been protected against the 
misdeeds of sons who, v^hilst " sowing their wild 
oats," have squandered away fortunes. 

257 » 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

It will be noted that in all these incidents it is 
always a case of cherchez la femme ; as a matter 
of fact this is one of the chief characteristics of 
Bohemian life in Paris, and it is this eternal 
feminine that gives an element of romance to what 
would otherwise often present an unsavoury 
aspect. In no single instance that I can recall 
which came to my notice was the usurer ever ap- 
proached for the purpose of raising funds for any- 
thing but expenses incurred for a petite femrae. 
Gambling debts such as one constantly hears of in 
an English University city were unknown in the 
Quartier Latin, or for the matter of that in Mont- 
martre. Of course I only refer to the class of 
young fellows, students and so forth, with whom 
I came in contact. They had doubtless many 
weaknesses, but these were usually what one would 
expect in youth and early manhood, though devo- 
tion to the fair sex was the dominating feature 
always. Drinking was practically non-existent in 
my time, and it is probably the same to this day ; 
for the light beer, coffee, and harmless aperitifs, 
which are part and parcel of the daily life, 
can scarcely be considered as indulgence in 
liquor. 

How different all this to the corresponding 
conditions of student life in England — where 
Bohemianism generally means living in dreary, 
frowsy lodgings with surroundings of such deadly 
monotony that one is forced to find relaxation in 

258 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

the only direction that presents itself ; since there 
is no pleasant cafe life, and one cannot always 
afford a club — namely, the saloon bar, a public 
billiard-room, r, worst of all, in the card-playing 
which is the great curse of EngHsh student life. 



m 



CONCLUSION 

Bohemian Ufe In Paris — ^The chann of the oaf^ — Gradual 
change in one's tastes — ^The chez soi — Progress in 
one's work — New friends — Forced to return to England 
— A final visit to G^rome. 

Bohemian life in Paris, once one begins to get out 
of the actual etudiant stage, changes very materi- 
ally? It is still Bohemian, but of a different type. 
One can always rough it, " needs must when the 
devil drives," but not with the zest of youth when 
youth is flitting. In Paris it was curious how 
imperceptibly but surely one's habits gradually 
changed, as one progressed in one's work. There 
seemed to be less time and inclination for the 
irresponsible methods which were so characteristic 
of the early days of one's atelier life. Even in 
one's pleasures there was a certain commencement 
of sedateness; boisterous practical joking was 
losing its attraction. There was a desire to 
associate with men of more mature years and make 
new friends. 

Caf^ life in Paris never loses its charm for the 
artist ; I mean, of course, for those who have had 
much experience of it, possibly because from being 

260 




THESE ARRIVES, WHO IN THEIR TIME WERE AMONGST THE MOST 
DEVIL-MAY-CARE SPIRITS OF THE OUARTIER. " 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

forced to practically live in cafes they become 
a sort of home for the lonely bachelor — a home 
where he can be alone or with company as he 
pleases. But after a time this life begins to 
appear a very empty sort of existence, and one has 
a feeling that a chez soi of one's own would be 
agreeable — a place where one can work and 
write one's letters in quiet privacy, surrounded by 
one's own pet comforts. This is the commence- 
ment of the second stage of Bohemian life in Paris 
— and I was now entering it. 

Although still quite young I recollect I had a 
feehng akin to admiration for men I had worked 
with at the Ecole who now had studios of their 
own, and who were starting portraits or big pictures 
for the Salon. These arrives, who in their time 
were amongst the most devil-may-care spirits of 
the Quartier — always ready for the most outrage- 
ous blagues and boyish adventures — had become 
serious painters now their Ecole days were past. 
It appeared to me as almost remarkable that so 
short a time could have made so great a difference. 
Many indeed had been seen wearing tall hats and 
clean collars. Their example was contagious, and 
I determined to try what I could do also apart 
from the hats and the collars. 

I had spent four happy years in Paris studying, 

and I felt that it was time I should decide how 

best to turn the knowledge I had acquired to good 

account if possible. To remain in Paris per- 

261 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

manently and endeavour to continue to live on my 
exiguous income, as I had hitherto done, tempted 
me greatly; but against this there was the feeling 
that what was possible as a student would no longer 
be so when one started attempting to make one's 
way seriously. 

My friend and I had only taken our studio in 
the Passage Lathuile for a year, and our time was 
now up ; and he was going to live away in the 
country, so my undecided state of mind will be the 
more understood. There is an old whist axiom, 
" when in doubt play trumps," and trumps for me 
meant Paris, for did I not practically owe my Art 
training to Paris .^^ And Paris I should have de- 
cided on had not the Fates decided otherwise. 
Through the failure of a big bank I found myself 
suddenly placed in such bad circumstances that 
I had no option but to give up all idea of remaining 
in France. To return to London and endeavour 
to make a living out of my brush or pencil was 
the only course open to me, for I felt that the 
chances of doing so were better there than in Paris. 

It was with no slight feeling of regret therefore 
that I had come to the decision, but stern necessity 
compelled it. 

I went and bid Gerome "good-bye," and told 

him why I was leaving Paris. He was sympathy 

itself, and we had quite a long talk together ; whilst 

to my delight he presented me with a parting 

souvenir in the shape of an autographed photo- 

262 



MY BOHEMIAN DAYS IN PARIS 

gravure of one of his most famous pictures, which 
I treasure amongst my most valued possessions, 
together with letters of introduction to two of his 
friends in London — Sir Frederick Leighton and 
John Everett Millais. As I made my way 
down from the studio, the memory of that day 
when, as a raw student, I had gone up there with 
Monsieur Thomas, full of trepidation as to the 
result of my visit, flashed through my mind. How 
much had happened during those four years, yet 
how quickly they had slipped away. I had, how- 
ever, the consciousness that if I had played hard 
I had also worked hard ; and that these years had 
therefore not been misspent. 

As I closed the porte cochere behind me and 
found myself again on the familiar Boulevard, I 
felt a lump in my throat, for I realised that my 
Bohemian days as a student in Paris were ended. 



363 



INDEX 



ABBAYE DE TH^LfeME, THE, 

Absconding American, IQ3 
Adventure, an unpleasant. 61 
Allais, Alphonse, 125 
American student, my quarrel 

with, 46 
Antique, studying in the, 20 
Arlequins, 56 
" Arrives," 24, 261 
Artist, an American at Mar- 

Iqtte, iQO 
Artists colony in Montmartre, 

120 
Atelier, my entree to, 40 ; 

practical jokes in, 47 



B 



Bal des Quatz Arts, 156; 
amazing indecency at, 162 ; 
the slave-dealer at. 166; an 
arrest in the morning, 168 

Bdnoit, Rue St, little restaur- 
ant in, 18 

Bet, an amusing, 113 

Billiards, playing for a pair 
of trousers, 200 

Bohemianism in those days in 
Montmartre, 105 ; a mystery 
of, 105 ; funny incident in, 
106 ; some strange examples 
of Bohemianism in, 230 

Bompard, 47 

Bonaparte, Rue, 11 

Brasseries and caf 6s in Mont- 
martre, iig; impressions of 
one, iig 



265 



Br^da, Rue, a hot-bed of vice, 
119 

Buci, Rue de, artists' rendez- 
vous in, 17 

Buland, 47 

Bullier bal, 67 



Cabanel, 20 
Cafe life in Paris, 260 
Caran d'Ache, 125 
Caricature of an American, 

Carrier-Belleuse, q6 

Chabot, colour merchant, 50 

Chairs, amusing jeu d'esprit, 
140 

ChartraOj q6 

Chat Noir, Cabaret du, lai ; 
the early reunions at, trans- 
formation of, 121 ; its re- 
moval, 122 ; its new habita- 
tion, 124; its distinguished 
habitues, 125 ; imitation Chat 
Noirs 125 

Cherchez la femme, 258 

" Chinois sur le zinc," a, 210 

Child, a dead, pathetic inci- 
dent, 240 

Ciceri, 178 

Clichy, Place, 141 ; Avenue de, 
141 

Cocottes. 119 

Concierges, different types of, 
14 

Cold cream, an amusing in- 
cident, 129 
Collages," 151 



INDEX 



Coolness of the Parisian, 
amusing incident, 152 

Cormon, 96 

Corv^es, irksome nature of, 
45 

Cours Yvon, 22 



D'Ange. Baronne, 84 
D'Isly. H6tel, in the Rue 

Jacob, 83 
Dagnan-Bouveret, 47 
Degas, q6 
Dejeuner, favourite places for, 

in the Quartier. 54 
Dejeuners, cheap, 24 
Delmet, 125 
Divan Japonais in Rue Lepic, 

218 
Donnay, Maurice, 125 
Door, the communicating, 85 
Dowdeswell, Walter, 97 
Drinking, 258 
Duel with paint-brushes, 45 ; 

by arrangement. 227 
Dupray, 96 



EcoLE DEs Beaux Arts, 16 
Elys^e Montmartre, 117 
Enfant Prodigue, 1', 125 
English dancers, at the Folies 

Bergferes, loi 
English girl, joke on, 102 
Epopee, r, 125 
Eugenie, 88 ; rendezvous 

with. 89 



Fair Neighbour, my, 22 
Faux manages, 149 
Florist, the, at Montigny. 192 
Fontainebleau, forest of, 173; 

palace of. 194; lost in, 195; 

joke on artist in cafe, 197 
Fontaine St Georges, Rue, my 

apartment in, 139 
Fontenay aux Roses, 76 
Food, the, in H6tel Marlotte, 

174 



Frail sisterhood, 119 
Frochot, Rue, lady living in, 

153. 
Furniture, buying, 84, 140 



Gambling debts, 258 

Gargon pianist, 219 

Gare St Lazare, unusual 
scene in, 213 

G6rome, J. L., 6, 30, 51 ; his 
popularity, 52 ; his kindly 
nature, 53, 96, 263 

Gervex, 96 

Gorge aux Loups, love-mak- 
ing in, 185 

Goupil, old, 96 

GoQter, the, 24 



H 



266 



Harrison, 47 
Helleu, 47 
" Her,'' 183 
Humbert, 96 



INCONNUE. my LOVELY, 1 88 
Interest, legal limit to, in 
France, 255, 257 



Jacob, Rue, 50 
Jealous woman, a, 341 
Jephson, Charlie, 97, 123 
Jeu au bouchon. le, on bil- 
liard-table. 175 
Journey, an eventful, 308 
Jouy, Jules, 125 
Julians, 58, 59 



La Belle Laure; her tragic 

end, 98 
La Gandara, 47 
La Grande Louise, 98 
La Grenouillere, 76 
La Sagatore, 98 
La Source, caf^ de la, 67 



INDEX 



La Thangue, 47 

Laval, Rue de, 125 

Lehmann, 20 

Leighton, Sir Frederick, 263 

" Liaisons " as compared with 

"collages," 151 
Lion, d'Or, the, 126 
Lion, lady and the, 131 
** Logements de gargon," 13 
Louis, looking for one, 66 
Louvre, copying at, 57 
Love, my first a£fair, 73 
Lyon, Gare de, adventure on 

way to, 204 

M 

MacNab, 12s 

Mattresses, 149 

Marlotte, 171 ; inn at, 172, 174, 

175 
Married woman and young 

student, 250 
Masse, the, 42 
Massier, the, 42 
Masson, A., 125 
Meeting, an unexpected, 235 
Memory, a lapse of, 154 
Messier, Monsieur, his house 

at Auteuil, 3 
Meudon, 75 
Militaire, the pas, 63 
Military discipline, 214 
Millais, John Everett, 263 
Minor, no claim against, 257 
Models, 48, 98, loi, 120, 144, 

148, 151, 15,3 
Money-lenders agents. 254 
Mont de Pi^te, the, 253 
Montigny, 171, 179 
Montmartre, cafes in, no, 216 
Moret, a visit to, 203, 214 
Moulin de la Galette, 117; 

dancing at, 118 
Mouloya, 125 

Music, advent of, in Mont- 
martre, 217 
Musician, a born. 320 



N 
New-comer, the, at Mar 

LOTTE, 180 



Night, first in new room, 85 
Notre Dame de Lorette, 

Quartier de, 119 
Nouveau, ragging the, 43 
Nouvelle Athenes, the, no 



O 



Omnibus, amateur conjurer 

IN, 68 
Ouvriferes petites, 60 



P 



Painters, open-air, 172 
Panels, movable in the hotel 

at Marlotte, 173 
Pantheon, the csd6 of, 67 
Passage Lathuille. 141; my 

study in, 142 
" Patron," the, his visits to 

atelier, 50 
Penne, O. de, 171, 176, 183, 

192 
"Petit rentier," gi 
Petit vin at Marlotte, 174 
Picnic, impromptu, 43 
Picture, my first sale of, gi 
Pille, 125 
Place Blanche, caf6 on ; funny 

incident at, in 
Place Pigalle, life in, n2 
Police, Prefecture de, 193; 

Commissaire of, 224 
Portrait, my first commission, 

92 
Portraiture, my earliest effort 

at, 51 
" Poseurs," 25 
Pr;actical joking at Auteuil, 

27 
Prince Imperial, my resem- 
blance to, 31 



Quartier Latin, n; rough- 
and-ready manners of, 55, 
60 

R 



267 



Rameau, Jean, 135 
" Rapins,"^ 24 



INDEX 



Rat Mort, the caf€ of, 112 
Rent of room, 84 
Restaurant, eccentric. 56 
Reuilly, Rue de. the factory 

in, 3, 128 
Reversion, borrowing on, 

illegal, 257 
Rivifere, Henri, 125 
Robinson, 75 
Rochefoucauld, la, aphorism 

of, 150; caf^ de la, 95; 

habitues of, q6 ; end of, 104 
Rochefoucauld, Rue de la, 83 
Rose, ma petite amie, T^) \ 

excursions with, 75, 76 ; 

joke on, 78; her last letter, 

81 



S 



St John's wood, as com- 
pared WITH MONTMARTRE, 
223 
St Michel, Boulevard, 60 
Saint Antoine, La tentation 

de, 125 
Salis. Rodolphej 121 
Salon, sending in to, 130 
"Saved," 233 
Seine, Rue de, hotel in, 14 
Shrimps, funny incident, ^^ 
Smoking in carriages on 
French railways, 208 ; un- 
pleasantness in, 211 
Solomon J. Solomon, 47 
Soufflet, the, 67 
Spider and the fly, 254 
Stanhope Forbes, 47 
Stott, William, of Oldham. 17 
Streets, joking in, 63, 64, 65, 

66, 69 
Student life in England, 258 
Students, types of, 24, 25, 26 
Studio district, 120 
Studio, my, in Passage La- 
thuille, 142 ; impromptu 
dejeuners in, 143 
Sundays en famille, 27 
Supper, an impromptu, in 

studio, 222 
Suresnes, a friture at, 76 
Surete, Inspector of the, IQ3 
Swan, 47 



TAPISSlfcRE, A, 33 

Thackeray, 54 

Theatre des Italiens, curious 

incident at. 30 
Thirions, 54 

Thomas, Alexandre, 3, 34 
Thomas. Isidore, 3, 32, 127; 

painting his portrait, 134 
Thomas, Madame, 34 
Treasure, the hidden, 233 
Tripp, Richard, 97 
Trudaine, Avenue, my little 

friend in, 168 

U 

Usurers of the Quartibr 

Latin, 253 
Uzfes. Rue d', 58, so 



VACHETTE, CAFfi, 67 

"Velocipede IV.," my nick- 
name, 47 

Ventriloquism, my eflFort at, 
and its result, 224, 225 

" Vernissage," the, at the 
Salon, 133; looking for 
one's pictures, 135 ; lunch 
at Ledoyens, 137 

Versailles, big fete at, 32 

Visconti, Rue, lodgings in, 12 

Vivienne, Rue, restaurant in, 

87 

W 

Waiter, joke on, 57 
Walrus, a human, 190 
Waxworks, joke in, 70 
Whistler, 96 
Wide World Magaaine, 

story from, 193 
Willette, 125 
Work, early hours of, ia 

atelier, 49 
Wolff, Albert, 96 



YvoN, Adolphe. 4 



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